


Passenger

by Akzeriyyuth



Category: Persona 5, Room No. 9 (Visual Novel)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood and Injury, Bondage, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Science, Electricity, Extremely Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, First Time, Fuck Or Die, Handcuffs, Hotel Sex, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Sex Toys, Slow Burn, Unconscious Sex, Vacation, this would not get past ANY ethics committee
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:33:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 123,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28128423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akzeriyyuth/pseuds/Akzeriyyuth
Summary: From the Persona 5 Kink Meme: a crossover between visual novel Room No. 9 and Persona 5: Ren and one of his friends go to Okinawa for a fun summer holiday, only to find themselves locked in a hotel room with no means of escape, advised that they've been selected to participate in a psychology study, and that their way to freedom means "earning" points for "completing tasks."As the tasks get more and more "extreme," it turns into a nightmarish series of choices between one awful option or another, and begins forcing Ren and Akechi to consider both who they are, and their connection to one another.
Relationships: Akechi Goro & Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren
Comments: 171
Kudos: 245





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, this idea wouldn't leave me alone and I started it, and kept going. 
> 
> If you know Room No. 9, you know it's really a story about a friendship transformed and warped beyond recognition, with a lot of consideration of the impact of committing-- or being subjected to-- torture, rather than the sex and the violence. 
> 
> The relationship between Ren and Akechi fascinates me: in some ways, it's strong and a driving force of significance, they're similarly matched and genuinely interested in one another; in other ways, it's fragile and fraught with issues, communication problems, shame and fear of intimacy. 
> 
> Anyway, I figured it would be fascinating to explore it, and how further adversity could change it. 
> 
> If you have played Room No. 9, expect similar conditions to the situation there. If you haven't played Room No. 9, it's a fantastic game if psychological horror is your thing, but every single one of the warnings at the start of the game, and in the reviews, is completely warranted. It's more Dead Dove Simulator than BL funtimes, but done with an understanding of the gravity of the issues covered, and while extreme and grotesque at times, it's surprisingly classy and beautifully made. 
> 
> All that said, that's where this fic is attempting to go, so if head fuckery, fuck or die, extremely dubious consent and some small degree of body horror aren't your cup of tea, please consider this a warning. 
> 
> Title is from the Deftones song, which I feel captures a particular vibe I was going for.

**Day 0**  
  
If Ren had to consider why he’d suggested it to begin with, he probably couldn’t have given a logical explanation.  
  
But their relationship wasn’t logical and never had been, so in some way, it made sense. Akechi had warmed to the idea, too; he’d calmly and casually agreed to come along, in the kind of way that made Ren feel guilty for not having asked him to begin with.  
  
It was meant to be a best bros trip to Okinawa, he and Ryuji catching up and spending ten days on the beach. They’d been looking forward to it; they’d had sporadic catch ups over the past eighteen months since saving the world, but nothing terribly extended: Ryuji was in and out of training and studying Sports Science; Ren was back in Tokyo and ambling between part time jobs and thinking about his future. The holiday was going to be the first real catch up he’d had with his best friends—Ann had initially planned to join them until she’d been booked for Fashion Week somewhere overseas—but it hadn’t dampened Ren’s spirits. They’d all catch up later on, it was just that this was obviously destined to be a guy thing.  
  
Then Ryuji had to cancel. Training came with a strict routine and the state comps were arriving, and, well… He’d been so apologetic about it, too. Offered to pay for his tickets and everything. And Ren had shrugged it off, agreeing they’d make it work some other time.  
  
He’d felt bad for feeling bad; no one was to blame, but still, spending ten days by himself in Okinawa seemed depressing, especially when he’d planned on catching up with friends.  
  
He wasn’t sure why he’d thought of Akechi as an option. Maybe he expected Akechi to decline the offer, some sort of oddness about the situation…  
Akechi was the one whom he had still some distance with.  
  
The girls? It was frequent coffee dates and discussion in the city. He hung out with Yusuke often, and he was always popping into LeBlanc to enjoy a coffee and a chat with Futaba and Sojiro. Everyone had moved on with their lives but the bonds of friendship still held.  
  
Akechi had been a different story. He’d disappeared again after Ren had returned home. Vanished from the media; Ren had started wondering if he’d even actually seen him on the platform as he’d left, until he returned to Tokyo and LeBlanc only to see his phone beep with a message from an unexpected number.  
  
“ _It’s been awhile…_ ”  
  


He'd appeared again, popped out of nowhere, just as he had in the past. So casually that it was like nothing had really happened between them, as though there wasn't that vacant space of no contact and wondering if Akechi was still _in existence._  
  
Their relationship had always been like this though. Awkward, stiflingly, dangerously close at times, fraught with concern about just how close they were getting; abruptly ceasing and then restarting again. He’d only chatted with Akechi a couple of times since the incident—Akechi had been at an uncomfortable crossroads, and unsure with where his future was headed, had spent some time drifting around the familiar; the police, some of Shido’s less switched-on business contacts, doing odd jobs and adding references to his resume while still not committing to anyone or anything.  
In some ways, Ren felt just as confused by him as he was when they first met. But at least there was consistency, if not anything else.  
  


Now they were in the second last row of bus seats, heading from the Okinawa airport to the hotel. Akechi had seemed genuinely touched and interested when Ren had suggested the trip, inspiring a sense of guilt at the fact that maybe he could have offered earlier. He'd even paid for his ticket, bought new travel gear, and seemed… _excited_.  
  
The warmth, the sunlight, the humidity in the bus, all added to an overall relaxed sense of drowsiness for all of the occupants, Ren noticed. Nothing to be concerned about, everyone else in the bus was reacting the same way, the conversations dulling as people just dozed off and flaked in the warm atmosphere. It was to be expected; like him, they’d probably been up early, they’d waited in the airport, the flight had been delayed, they’d flown over to the island, they’d crawled out of the plane into the glaring heat and waited for the bus, and exhausted, had zoned out for most of the journey to the hotel.  
  
Akechi hadn’t said a great deal about what he was up to. There’d been that typically guarded way he redirected the focus onto Ren, who hadn’t had much to tell him beyond that he’d seen his friends, that Morgana had opted to stay back at LeBlanc (he assumed Akechi could understand _why_ and it wasn’t really discussed), and that he’d had lunch with Maruki a few weeks ago. Despite the passage of time and everything they had been through, Akechi was still… Akechi. Proud. Guarded. Polite and charming—a bit more laid back and at ease than he’d been previously, but still difficult to read. All Ren understood of his situation was that like him, and unlike the rest of his group, he didn’t seem to be headed anywhere with a sense of real purpose. It was as though he’d survived, only to be stranded and unsure of where to move next. _Un_ like Ren, he hadn’t stayed in contact with any of the others; he inquired cordially about what they were up to, but didn’t seem especially interested.  
  
And unlike Ren, he actually was asleep. He slept quietly and calmly, still composed and sitting upright, the sunlight hitting his hair and enhancing the copper tones. It reminded Ren in a way of the days when they explored Mementos in the Monavan, when every so often someone would get drowsy and just flake out for a bit. Akechi had on a few occasions, but gave little to alert anyone else that he was asleep—he didn’t snore like some of the others or talk in his sleep like Ryuji, or flop around and flail like Yusuke; it was a very composed, almost lucid way of very… _tidily_ sleeping.  
  
Smiling at the memories, at the warmth and peacefulness, and the fact that even though it hadn’t been the vacation he expected, it was still going to be a good time, Ren felt his own eyelids drooping. Getting a little shut eye probably wasn’t such a bad idea anyway; it wasn’t like there was anything else he could do while nearly everyone else was asleep around him, right?  
  
He gave in, stretching, careful not to disturb his friend, whom he remembered to be a light sleeper. They’d wake up afresh when the bus stopped at the hotel.  
  


  
  
That was the first clue that something was amiss. The bed—Ren remembered dozing off in the bus, but nothing that came afterwards. And… something had clearly gone wrong with the booking: sure, he’d booked a single room with initially three—and then dropped down to two—single beds. Yet he awoke on what was likely a queen sized mattress, to Akechi rustling next to him awkwardly.  
  
What… had happened? How did they even get here? How did he not remember? How much time had passed?  
  
Opening his eyes properly, he glanced around the room. A nice, modern looking hotel room, with a gorgeous ocean view from the window, just like the brochure and online ads had promised. Maybe a bit nicer. His bags, and Akechi’s bags, sat against the wall. There was a large TV facing the bed, almost big enough to step into if you could imagine doing so—which nearly made up for the booking problem which saw them in what was most likely a couples’ room, instead of the one he’d booked.  
  
“Oh. You’re awake.” Akechi didn’t sound drowsy at all. Confused and uncertain, but as though he’d been awake for some time and trying to make sense of what was happening.  
  
Ren frowned. “Do you remember coming back here and… climbing into bed with me?”  
  
Shaking his head and crawling to a sitting position, then getting up to investigate their surroundings, Akechi didn’t say anything at first. “I suppose you don’t remember anything about this, either?”  
  
“No. I was… kind of hoping you would.”  
  
“Unfortunately I was thinking the same thing.” He walked over to where their bags were, and rifled through his. “And I suppose we need to contact management and explain that there’s been a mix up with the rooms, too… you _didn’t_ book a double bed, did you, Ren?”  
  
“No!” Ignoring the implication, and slightly panicked—and annoyed—Ren adamantly shook his head. “I had it changed over to two singles when Ann couldn’t come with us, but—”  
  
Akechi was only half-listening to him, still looking through his bag. “All my things are here,” he said vaguely, “But I feel like someone has been through them.”  
  
Joining him, Ren examined his own luggage. “I… think you’re right,” he murmured. “But… why? This place doesn’t have a non-smoking policy, and even then, they can’t just go through other people’s stuff like that.”  
  
“I hope this doesn’t mean you have taken up smoking—or worse,” Akechi grumbled. “You weren’t… under the influence of anything when you were on the bus, were you?”  
  
“No!” He rolled his eyes. “You probably know more about drugs and alcohol from the company you kept back in Shibuya—”  
  
Akechi sniffed. “I wasn’t trying to argue, I’m just trying to understand what’s going on here. It… doesn’t add up.” Finding his phone, he opened it. “If we can just call the front desk and get the room situation fixed, then we can work out what happened—” He stared at the screen in his hand, his frown deepening.  
  
“There’s no signal.”  
  
“What?” Ren couldn’t hide the panic in his voice. “What do you mean, there’s _no signal_? We’re in a tourist hot spot. This place has free wifi…” He opened his own phone as he spoke, and, frustrated, tapped on the screen a few times. Akechi had been correct.  
  
“For all we know, we may not even be in Okinawa.”  
  
“I… think that’s a bit of a stretch.” Still frowning, he looked at the screen and its circular bar refusing to load anything. “I mean, we got on the plane and off at the airport… And… there were other people with us. Someone would have seen… something.”  
  
“Maybe you’re right. If this was part of the conspiracy though…” Akechi looked thoughtful and his eyes moved around the room and back to his bag. “I don’t think they’ve taken anything from my belongings, but still… it’s unnerving.”  
  
“Do you think this might be… _you know_?”  
  
Stuffing a handful of clothes back into his bag and zipping it, Akechi sighed. “Shido? Possibly, but a kidnapping effort—if that’s what this even is—would take a lot of work and be incredibly risky.”  
  
It was as though uttering those words just solidified how serious the situation was.  
  
“It’s probably just a screw up with the hotel,” Ren suggested brightly, his voice still shaking under the optimism. “I mean, we just walk out, go to the front desk, and if they don’t fix it, we’ll find somewhere else to stay, right?”  
  
Akechi nodded.  
  
There were two doors, both closed, in the room. The one on the left—“This is the bathroom—quite nice, actually—” Akechi opened, as Ren moved to the other.  
  
He twisted the handle as Akechi closed over the bathroom and made his way to Ren.  
The handle, almost to Ren’s surprise, moved freely, opening with no issues. But what lay beyond wasn’t the hotel hallway Ren expected to see, but a small tiled laundry room instead. Well, it would have been a laundry if there’d been a washing machine in there—instead there were two hampers for receiving clothing, and shelves built into the wall. A steel rubbish bin was rested underneath them, and curiously—and ominously, a sinister-looking yellow sharps bin, the kind medical places had around for getting rid of infectious waste and needles.  
  
Akechi had found this “exit” just as Ren opened the door and tried to make sense of it.  
“What… is this?”  
  
“I suppose some hotels have a laundry area—” It was a weak excuse.  
  
“There’s a door at the end.” Akechi sounded like he was about to make a half-assed excuse about obscure building design but thought better of it.  
  
“Why is there a camera staring at us?”  
  
As though they’d noticed it at exactly the same time, they glanced up at the large black camera mounted above the door frame.  
  
Ren didn’t say anything, but walked to the door handle and twisted it. It moved, but it didn’t give. He tried again, throwing his weight into the door as he turned the handle, pushing hard with his shoulder.  
  
“This is… unexpected.” Akechi’s voice was now thin and uneasy, his eyes widened and concerned.  
  
“I’ll—get—this—” Ren forced his weight against the door and pushed, stepping back what felt like an eternity later, defeated. “I know this is a door, I can feel the movement in the handle—”  
  
Staring at him, at the obscure room, at the camera which all but smirked at them, Akechi wanted to say something. But confusion would not solve anything. When he’d been the Detective Prince and Shido’s lackey—who had made more than a few enemies—and when Ren was leader of the Phantom Thieves, both of them had attracted attention and earned themselves the ire of a lot of powerful people. The why and the who could be perfectly logical. The question which bothered him was the _how_ _do we get out of here_?  
  
Watching Ren twist the handle aggressively, and then slam his full body weight at it was when he spoke up. “ _Ren_ ,” he said quietly.  
  
“What?” Turning around and hissing, his grey eyes full of angry frustration, Ren’s calm had evaporated.  
  
Akechi had seen Ren like this only a handful of times; coming up against locked doors in the Metaverse was met with an optimism, a “How else do we find a way to open this sucker?”; near death and imposing enemies were a challenge. Ren was always annoyingly cool and unshakeable, and yet now, here he was, snapping.  
  
“Let’s think about this.” _Think of it like we’re taking a break in a safe room_ , he wanted to say, but didn’t want to risk getting snapped at again. He walked out into the main area, bypassing the small table and chairs near the window. The sky was darkening outside, and in the distance birds could be seen flying against the sunset, searching for one final meal before finding a place to roost for the night.  
  
Something about the window seemed _off_. It was set into the wall, sort of, a cloudy softness to its touch unlike any window Akechi had touched or seen before. The depth of the image seemed off, too, in a way that probably Yusuke could explain with technical terms, but he could not.  
He pushed his face to it, in the hopes he could peer down, see where they were—they seemed to be on a second or third floor—and if there were any clues outside which could help them escape.  
  
Then he realised.  
  
Ren had given up on the exit, angrily stomping in and ignoring him, focussing on the television instead.  
  
“If someone’s going to lock me in here, the least I’m going to do is watch some pay-per-view,” he snarled, throwing himself onto the bed and searching for a remote.  
  
Akechi could understand the frustration. “Um, Ren… this window…”  
  
“It doesn’t open so we can’t climb out, I know. I looked at it before.”  
  
“It’s…” Akechi tried desperately to control the fear in his voice. “...Not actually a window. It’s just a television screen.”  
  
“ _What_?” Incredulity in Ren’s voice had turned to terror. “Why would…?”  
  
“I think the why and probably the who has a reasonable explanation,” Akechi said quietly. “After all, both of us made life difficult for a number of powerful people, and possibly the two of us reconnecting gave someone the perfect opportunity—”  
  
“ _No_.” Ren stood up from the bed and looked around on the TV cabinet for some kind of power switch, his own voice rising with panic. “I _booked_ this place. It was legit. Would this have happened if I’d come here with Ann and Ryuji instead of you?” Finding no remote, but a small tablet panel set into the wood, Ren touched it. “The bus was full of people. There’s _no way_ this is all a set up—”

The small “ding” from the television was mildly startling. A large, typed message, similar to what you’d see about copyright protection at the start of a movie came up. Ignoring it initially—it was probably hotel information about not trashing the room and being liable for costs if there was damage—came onto the screen. Ren turned to the “window” Akechi had previously been occupied with, scouring it for vulnerable points where it might be able to be removed.  
  
Akechi stood in front of the television, though, reading the text message in silence. His eyes widened with every line of text he took in, and his jaw fell.  
  
The silence was enough to bring Ren’s attention back to the screen.

  
 _“You have been selected to participate in a behavioural analysis experiment…”_  
  
“Selected?” The word fell out of his mouth. “By _whom_?”  
  
“Normally there’s some sort of informed consent involved with participating in psychological studies,” Akechi muttered. “They make you sign forms outlining what the study is about and who authorised it and—”  
  
“So… this is some kind of _prank_?” Still staring at the screen, Ren could barely control his rage.  
  
“I’d say it’s a bit far for a prank, and whoever has set this up means business. And they have funding behind them.”  
  
Ren touched on the tablet screen again, and new text appeared on the screen.  
  
 _“The experiment will come to a conclusion once the subjects acquire 100 points. Points are earned by selecting one of two daily tasks, which rise in difficulty with the completion of prior tasks.”_  
  
“Okay… so we just have to do things that they ask us to.” Ren nodded as more text appeared on the screen.  
  
 _“Points will not be awarded if the task is not completed, and points will be deducted for any behaviour which compromises the integrity of this facility or the experiment.”_  
  
 _There goes my escape plan with the “window,”_ Ren thought glumly to himself. A television screen that size and clarity would have cost a fortune. There would definitely be penalties for breaking it.  
  
“So what do we have to do?” Akechi tentatively tapped on the tablet and the screen changed again, this time, to two columns, marked “Participant A,” and “Participant B.” Under A, was a picture of Ren, followed by his name, age, birthdate, and other statistical information. He glanced at the details on himself, “Participant B.”  
  
“Whoever did this did their research,” he said. “I… wonder what else they know about us?”  
  
“I suppose both of us have records,” Ren murmured quietly. “I wonder if whoever’s behind this was involved with …you know, the conspiracy.”  
  
“Hard to say,” Akechi said. “I never heard of them being involved with anything like this. I suppose all we can do right now is play along with them, earn the one hundred points and then go to the authorities when we’re released.”  
  
“That’s assuming they’re being honest with us.”  
  
Ren tapped the tablet again, and a more in depth list of rules appeared. Meals would be provided for participants in the experiment via the laundry area, which appeared to be what the rules were calling “the collection chamber.” Laundry and rubbish could be left here, and any tools required for the tasks would be supplied via the collection chamber. Leftover food and kitchenware was to be left there after meals. When the light—which neither of them had noticed until now—above the door to the collection chamber was lit, it meant that the room was inaccessible. Food and other items would not be delivered if the collection chamber was occupied. It all seemed fairly practical, and they clicked through to be confronted by another page of rules.  
  
Skimming through it, it was the final item on the list which made them both gasp. For Ren, it was a resigned, frightened sigh of a gasp, for Akechi, it was a hiss of anger which escaped him like steam from a boiling kettle.  
  
 _“In the event of the death of a participant…”_  
  
The language below was cold. Cold and efficient and clinical, suggesting that death was merely a potential outcome of the experiment. Participants were told they could select what they wished done with their remains while participating, as though it was just like checking off preferred items on a hospital menu.  
  
“I guess this is serious,” Ren muttered. He barely skimmed over the rest of the rules: penalties and punishments for property destruction, for escape attempts, for lingering in the collection chamber.

  
Akechi just stood there, silently looking at the screen in front of him.  
  
“Can I move onto the next bit?” Ren asked tentatively. “I want to know what these activities they need us to do are.”  
  
Akechi just nodded, and Ren touched the screen again, which changed the display to a series of boxes representing other participants. Theirs, Room Number 9, displayed that the room had two participants and had been there for zero days. A disclaimer flashed on the screen explaining that if they released information to the other participants, points would be awarded.  
  
“I suppose there’s no harm in others knowing that there are two people in here, that they have been here for zero days, and haven’t earned any points yet,” Akechi said. “I mean, they aren’t asking us to show anything else.”  
  
Ren nodded. “There was something in the rules about extra points being awarded for allowing other participants to see our camera feeds and personal information.”  
  
“I’m not comfortable with that.”  
  
Ren nodded.  
  
“I’m not comfortable with any of this, but if we have to play along and have no choice in the matter, I would prefer to do it with some semblance of privacy.”  
  
“If we get to see what the others are up to, it might help us get out of here. Or help with an investigation afterwards, or…”  
  
“Or make us targets when we’re out because we’ve seen other people,” Akechi said in point blank chilled horror. “Think about it, Ren, they’ve spent millions, easily, on setting this up. From the looks of this, and how much is stipulated in the rules, they’ve been doing this for some time. They have managed to operate under the veil of secrecy somehow.”  
  
“Had anything like this come up when you were with the police?”  
  
Akechi laughed bitterly. “In Tokyo? Of course not. And really, who would believe something like this? It has all the mad conspiracy horror story credibility that those organ harvesting stories on the internet do…” He looked thoughtful. “Perhaps the tasks are such non-issues that no one cares. Maybe they’re just happy to have a holiday and to escape with their lives and that’s enough of a good experience for them.”  
  
“Yeah, I still won’t be leaving this place a glowing Yelp review.”  
  
Crooking a finger and biting down on his knuckle—a rare show of nervousness from him—Akechi clicked on the tablet again in what might have been a sense of morbid horror or just a desire to see what was being asked of them.  
  
What followed was a short video with an explanation of things that could happen—which evidently had happened to other participants in this bizarre “study.”

  
It probably only ran for a minute. Maybe less. But the footage shown—a man lingering in the collection chamber and clearly going crazy—and then footage of the same man, days later, either exhausted and starved—or maybe dead. The black and white, poor quality imagery suggested that the camera positions were the same as in their collection chamber, at least—left some questions.  
  
Watching in horror as the video cut to different footage—this time of a middle-aged man apparently strangling someone— _his own son_?—until the boy’s face darkened in the black and white footage, and he stopped moving—Ren was disgusted.  
  
“I don’t think they’re acting,” he said solemnly, as Akechi squinted to try and make out details in the footage. He was probably looking for little crime scene photography tells.  
  
Ren desperately wanted Akechi to say something dismissive and condescending then. To laugh about it, to point out that it was all an elaborate hoax, to say the sorts of stuff which would be normally morbid and awful, that _real_ death looked so much different to these B-grade actors—but he didn’t.  
  
When the video came to an end, he just stared at Ren.  
“Depending on what these tasks are, perhaps it would be simpler if one of us decided to… _you know…_ now.” His voice was hollow and serious. “I’m starting to suspect that these tasks aren’t going to be enjoyable.”  
  
Ren blinked. “But _death_ would be preferable to whatever they want us to do? _Really_?” He was angry now. Angry that he’d been forced into this situation, angry that he was trapped, angry that some unknown evil—when eighteen months before he’d assumed he’d saved the world—was now back in full force, and ruining what was meant to be a nice harmless vacation with a friend whom he hadn’t seen in a while.  
  
A week ago, Akechi had told him, with almost childlike enthusiasm, that he’d just purchased waterproof sunscreen and a hat specifically for the trip.  
  
Now, he was staring at a screen in abject horror, talking about the possibility of suicide.  
  
“ _No_ ,” Ren said. “I spent a year and a half refusing to die when I was up against something bigger and worse than this. Both of us have taken on impossible odds and—we’ve fought _gods_ , Akechi. Some creeps with a sick social psychology experiment are small fry."  
  
Akechi stared at him, unreadable.  
  
“It’s a shame we can’t summon personas any more, isn’t it?”  
  
“I’m not sure Loki’s Call to Chaos would help us right now.”  
  
“No... but... I could summon a fire user to melt through the doors. Or someone to drive a gale force through this place. Or…”  
  
“But we’re not in the Metaverse anyway.”  
  
“I wonder if the people behind this have palaces. What their shadows look like… if…”  
  
“ _Ren_.” Akechi’s voice was gentle and careful.  
  
“If Ann and Ryuji had been here—”  
  
“Ann would be trying to reason with them and Ryuji would be driving you all into negative points for the next decade by trashing the place, I suspect.”  
  
Ren could at least smile at that. While Akechi never particularly liked his friends, he knew them well, and the observation was enough to break Ren’s derailed train of thought.  
  
“So,” he said, with a sort of forced calm. “From the looks of this, we’re stuck here for ten days minimum. We don’t know where any loopholes in here are— _or_ if there are any—that we can exploit yet, and we need to earn one hundred points.”  
  
“So you’re just going to play along?” Ren asked. “Even though we don’t know what they want us to do?”  
  
“That seems to be our only option right now.”  
  
“You mean killing me never occurred to you?” There was a cutting, angry glint of something in Ren’s eyes.  
  
“That… didn’t work out very well when I tried to last time, did it?”  
  
“Only because I had my friends backing me up and Futaba hacked your phone.”  
  
Akechi blinked. He opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, and then shut it again, before shaking his head. “If we’re to survive this reasonably unscathed,” he said slowly, “Or if we’re going to try and escape, two heads is better than one.”  
  
“Great, so I’m safe because I’m an asset to you.”  
  
“Yes, but—” Akechi twitched uncomfortably as Ren’s suspicion seemed to flare up again, “No.” He paused again, sitting on the end of the bed, leaning forward to look at the television screen. “You’ve never killed someone at close range, have you, Ren?”  
  
Ren didn’t know what to say to that. His eyes widened slightly, as Akechi continued.  
  
“I know you’ve killed shadows in battle and fought and dominated palace rulers, but it’s vastly different up close. And it’s worse when there’s some sort of connection to the person.” His voice had shifted into something softer and more nervous. “Trust me on this, Ren, I don’t want to have to do that again, and it’s not an experience I would wish on you, either.”  
  
Ren stared at the screen. “ _Clever_ ,” he said. “Appeal to my good nature. Make it sound like a dare.”  
  
Akechi jumped back, looking scandalised. “I didn’t mean it like _that_ ,” he said. “Let’s see what these tasks are and work out what we’re doing from here.”  
  
  
Ren vacantly tapped the screen again, and the tasks for day one appeared, with check boxes next to them.  
  
“I suppose we tick the one we’re going to opt for,” Akechi said in disgust and disbelief.  
  
Ren only nodded, his eyes still running across the text. For an easy first day task, what was being requested was awful already. He suspected Akechi was doing what he always did, thinking three moves ahead, and envisioning the requests becoming a whole lot worse.  
  
“I’m happy for us to choose the first task.” Akechi didn’t look pleased, but he looked slightly relieved. “I’m just concerned about what we’re going to be asked to do after this one.”  
  
Still only nodding in numb silence, Ren agreed.  
  
He wanted to smash his fist into the screen and rip the tablet out of its cradle and throw it through the artificial window. He wanted to ambush anyone who came into the collection chamber and make Akechi eat his words about how hard it was to kill someone with his bare hands. But more than any of it, he realised, forcing himself to calm down, he wanted to find out who was behind this and bring justice to them. Even if those people he’d seen going crazy and killing one another in the video were only actors, this was a hell of a head fuck to pull on someone, and the cruelty alone meant he was dealing with some evil, twisted people.  
  
He looked over the options, and gave Akechi a grateful nod for volunteering.  
  
“Have… you ever done anything like this before?” Akechi asked.  
  
“No. You?”  
  
Akechi didn’t said anything, lost in his thoughts, staring at same wretched text that Ren was.  
  
 _#1: Subject A extracts 600ml of blood from Subject B.  
#2: Subject B extracts seminal fluid from Subject A._


	2. Day 0: 0 points

“So do we get the five points for revealing who we are?” Ren asked after checking the box. An icy silence filled the room after he’d spoken, but it felt final, like they’d dealt with that particular dilemma and could move onto the next issue.

Akechi nodded. Their positions had reversed; now he was the one staring in shell-shocked silence while Ren was being practical about the situation. Maybe he didn’t like the certainty of agreeing to any of this, perhaps some part of him was worried they’d locked themselves into the wrong choice.

Or maybe he just wasn’t thrilled about having more than half a litre of blood removed from him, at the hands of someone who wasn’t a medical professional.

“It’s probably not a bad idea,” he said tightly. “I’m not comfortable with sharing our camera feed to other rooms though.”

“That’s another ten points, which would take a day off the experiment,” Ren pointed out, looking over the menu. It was tempting. So very tempting. But considering the second task option, and imagining how the tasks could escalate, made him understand why Akechi was hesitant to do so.

Ren moved to the menu and checked the option to share their basic information. A small ping from the TV caused another menu option to flash. Selecting it brought up a list of _other_ rooms. Theirs, Room Number 9, sat on the bottom row.

“It appears we aren’t the only participants in this experiment,” Akechi noted. He pointed at Room Number One. “It says they’ve been here for twenty days and have forty five points. And there are four people in there.”

Ren leaned over. _Twenty days_. He didn’t want to think what they might have been asked to do, or why they’d taken twice the amount of time the experiment was due to go for.

“What happens if we don’t do the tasks?” Ren asked. “They can’t just _keep us here_.”

“Room Number Five has three people in it and they’ve been here for _sixty_ days. And they have eighty points. It doesn’t appear that they’re attempting to complete more tasks.”

“Perhaps they keep trying and _can’t_ complete the task.”

“So that’s what happens?” Akechi folded his arms and stepped away. “I can’t say I like where this is going.”

“I wonder if they’re getting assigned the same things we were, or if the tasks were… _tailored_ to us? I mean, there are four people in Room One. Does that mean one person has to take three people’s blood, or two people are specified for the task, or…”

“That thought occurred to me as well.” He frowned. “There were families with _children_ on the bus with us… there were couples. I suppose asking a couple to engage in the second task on our list would be no hard task for them. A bit awkward, perhaps, but different to asking _us_ to do it.”

Ren’s throat had gone dry as the information sunk in. The depravity of the acts, the suggestion that they’d only escalate further, and the fact that all of this was being filmed, left him feeling a sense of disgust. The thought of children being subjected to this only made it worse. He wasn’t sure if he was pleased they’d opted to take the extra five points for revealing their details—and learning that other people were similarly imprisoned.

“At least I’m just taking blood from you, I guess,” Ren offered with a nervous smile and a shrug.

“It was the logical option. Neither of us are particularly squeamish and that did seem to be the obvious choice.”

“Six hundred mils is…” Ren considered it. He’d spent a good part of a year undergoing blood tests under Dr. Takemi’s supervision, but thinking about it, she’d never taken _that_ much in one go.

“I wonder what their aim is. What do they even do with someone’s blood?”

“Maybe one of the other rooms has to eat it or something?”

Akechi looked disgusted. “I’m sure that would contravene at _least_ more than a few health codes.”

“It wasn’t like we gave informed consent to participate in this.” Ren shrugged. “If people are _dying_ in here, I think it’s safe to assume they don’t care about laws being broken.”

“But so far they appear to have some concern about our health and welfare. They could have just taken us to a dump.”

“In some ways it’s actually creepier that this place is so nice.”

Akechi nodded, and then looked at the bed. “I suppose we should work out how we’re going to deal with sleeping arrangements, too.”

“You take the bed tonight,” Ren offered. “You probably should rest up and hydrate before …tomorrow’s task.”

“And where will you sleep?”

Ren shrugged. “The floor looks clean enough. In all honesty, this is already turning out to be a crappy vacation, so sleeping on the floor is hardly going to ruin it.” In that moment, he remembered the less than stellar Shujin class trip to Hawaii—everything had seemed so full on and panicked at the time then—this was just before they’d elected to steal Okumura’s heart, when they’d run into Haru without realising who she was— _god_. It felt so long ago now.

He thought about his friends from Shujin. In a way, maybe it was better for everyone that Ann and Ryuji weren’t being subjected to this. They’d both survived—and moved on from—their respective traumas. Ren guiltily glanced at Akechi—this wasn’t fair on him, either, even though he managed to give the impression that nothing really got under his skin, that he had some in-built mechanism to suppress—or bounce back from—or somehow just _not get damaged_ by certain horrors life had thrown at him.

“I don’t mind if you sleep on the other side of the bed,” Akechi offered quietly. “You probably should be at your best before performing what’s effectively a medical procedure on me.” He frowned. “I remember you telling me you were helping out a doctor awhile ago… did you do anything like this?”

“I had blood taken,” Ren said. “Enough times to know how it works. Sort of. I wasn't sticking needles into anyone else.”

Not quite looking at him, and clicking around on the menu—it was a distraction, at least—he watched as the menu flashed. Another room had come online with their details, two people, day zero, five points, just like them.

“It appears that not everyone on the bus ended up here,” Akechi noted. “Two other rooms have zero days to their name and the five points, four other rooms have been here for longer than us, and the rest appear to be inactive.”

“Perhaps they opted to not take the five points, and left their details private?” Ren suggested.

“That would be suggesting that _all_ of the other people—and there would have been about thirty of us—on the bus—would be spread amongst the remaining six rooms. Not impossible, but unlikely.”

“So maybe there were people on the bus with us who were in on this? Disguised as tourists?”

“It seems likely.”

Ren tried desperately to remember who’d been on the bus with them. A vague blur of faces, a couple of families with kids, other young adults like themselves just seemingly going out for a sun-filled, idyllic holiday, with no cares in the world.

“I’m …really sorry this has happened.” The thought of a bunch of innocent, random people—including Akechi—expecting a relaxing trip and encountering this instead, was awful. And he was to blame. He’d booked the tickets, he’d made the arrangements, then changed them, then sought out Akechi deliberately and asked if he wanted to join him. “This was entirely my fault.”

“No it wasn’t.” Akechi was being surprisingly calm about the whole thing, and Ren wondered how he’d be reacting if their positions were reversed. Most likely, he’d be unfairly suspicious or willing to believe that Shido’s men had come after the rogue assassin and he’d been caught up in the whole mess. “Whoever did this may have chosen us at random. Or they could have just as easily seen my name as yours and selected us because of me.”

Before Ren could argue, he continued. “Anyway, there really isn’t much point in speculating on why we ended up here. We need to just focus on getting through the next ten days and getting out alive.”

Ren nodded glumly, absently scrolling through the rules.

A small “ping” came from the television screen and the light above the door to the exchange chamber came on. It was another novelty, a distraction from the monotony and the staleness of being stuck in the room.

“I think that’s dinner,” Akechi said, watching the light flash and then switch off. Somewhere that felt very distant, came the sound of a door pulled shut, frustratingly close but too far away to access.

He twisted the handle, and Ren followed him into the collection chamber. A small trolley containing what appeared to be two meals under silver cloches faced them.

“Fancy,” Ren noted with a raised eyebrow. He wheeled the trolley out and stopped next to the small table. “Bon appetit, I guess.”

They moved the meals to the tabletop and uncovered them. Ren had expected hospital style food—half cold, barely passable, with a calorific content that served only to keep them alive.

Instead, they were greeted with plates of succulent-looking rafute, garnished with umi budou and grated daikon.

“At least we aren’t missing out on the local cuisine,” Akechi mused, picking up his chopsticks. Bottled drinks sat next to the trays, and Ren grabbed one for each of them. The food smelled wonderful, but the incongruity—the unavoidable awfulness of what faced them—and then this delicious, lovingly prepared food—was strange. They sat opposite each other, savouring their meals, both in silent thought for what felt like a long time.

“Maybe the people who stayed here for a month were huge foodies,” Ren suggested as he took a bite of the pork. It was moist and flavourful, practically melting in his mouth. “I mean—mmmhhh—this is really good, actually.”

“It is… but I still have no interest in staying here any longer than I have to,” Akechi replied.

“Me neither, but if there’s got to be an upside to all this, then at least it’s the food.”

“I suppose so.”

They fell silent again. Yet again, Ren felt a pang of regret. _Could_ all of this have been avoided somehow? Even though Akechi had been good natured and level-headed about it, he still felt at fault, and couldn’t avoid thinking about what was coming in future. The first task—ten points—one _tenth_ of what they needed to do to escape—was already bad enough, and taking six hundred mils of blood from someone in one sitting—Ren suspected that was neither sustainable in the long term nor what they’d be asked to do next time. What happened when it escalated? And would the tasks remain the same on the other side? He couldn’t expect Akechi to shoulder having things _done_ to him all the time… but then again, this was still preferable to _the other option_.

He stared at Akechi across the table. Was his offer to be on the receiving end of the first option because suggesting that the second option was preferable was kind of creepy? Instead of having to have _that_ discussion, they’d privately, unanimously agreed that this was the preferred course of action.

There’d been an ambiguity in his engagement with Akechi, punctuated with real life drama, disappearances, betrayals, half-truths and discussions they’d never really had time to have. At one point it had almost felt like they might have been dating, but after that recorded phone conversation, all those thoughts had vanished into thin air: that was just Akechi weakening Ren’s defences, showing an interest in him, making him feel special— _seducing him_ , he supposed you’d say—all to understand how he operated, so he’d be easier to assess and take down.

 _But then he came back_ … Ren thought about the glove which had spent the better part of three months in his jeans pocket, a private reminder to himself that whatever the hell was going on with Akechi hadn’t been finished and still needed to be dealt with. And then Akechi came back, helped them defeat Maruki, vanished again, only to possibly pop up, seeing him off in the distance and walking away with some suspicious-looking guys in black suits—possibly just an illusion, something Ren desperately wanted to see while staring into the distance and touching that glove in his pocket—and had remained AWOL for another six months. He’d wanted to see Akechi again, to have a proper discussion about everything that had happened between them—and Akechi had elusively disappeared.

Only, more than half a year, to blithely text him and suggest meeting up for some pool, where the competition was fierce, there was friendly snark and banter, and nothing of substance said, with Akechi ringing him as he headed back to where he was staying, thanking him for a great night and saying he wanted to do it again.

Everything else might have changed, but the situation between _them_ had reverted back into what it was months after they’d first met.

One step forward, ten steps back.

Akechi wasn’t saying much, either, probably just as consumed with his own thoughts as Ren was with his. After they finished dinner and loaded the plates and chopsticks onto the trolley, closing the door behind them and waiting. It felt like there was an expanse of eternity in front of them, when all Ren really wanted to do was get this over and done with.

They returned to the central space and sat on the bed, staring at the television. In amongst worrying about the horror of the situation they were stuck in, one thing which hadn’t occurred to Ren was how they were going to deal with the sheer boredom of spending the next—at least—240 hours in a hotel room together. They’d packed for an outdoors vacation and expected to be entertained by the sights and experiences of Okinawa… not to be stuck locked inside a nice—but still smallish—room for the entire time.

“I don’t mind if you want to watch television,” Akechi said with a shrug. “I did bring my e-reader and can play a few games on my phone that don’t require internet access.”

“It’s all right,” Ren said. “I think TV costs us points.”

“Pay per view does,” Akechi pointed out. “Local regular television is accessed through the menu. Here.” He pressed on the panel and the screen switched to what appeared to be an evening weather report.

“Who even cares about the weather if outside is just a computer screen and we aren’t going out there anyway?” Ren asked. He flicked the channel arrow on the panel, for static to come onto the screen.

“This is assuming the weather report is actually real time,” Akechi said.

“What do you mean--?” Suddenly it occurred to Ren, just as Akechi was explaining—

“If they control the artificial daylight and clocks here, they can effectively control time, can’t they?”

Ren reached for his phone. “Mine’s saying it’s eight PM right now.” He glanced at the TV. “Same as on there. Maybe they haven’t bothered to simulate that.”

Akechi glanced at his phone. “Looks like you’re right.”

“Still, the weather reports aren’t going to be of much use to us… unless there’s a big storm or something which might take out the power.”

“You still think we’re just going to escape, don’t you, Ren?”

He nodded. “ _Yes_ ,” he said. Because the alternative—thinking of doing something worse than taking six hundred mils of blood from Akechi—was far more awful than a vague sense of hope.

In some ways, they truly were similar. Their likeness had been casually mentioned by a few of his other friends, Maruki had clearly noticed their similarity and connection; they’d quickly established a rapport that Ren liked to believe was in some part genuine, even though it clearly led to Akechi’s move against him in the interrogation cell.

But in some ways, they were polar opposites, and this was a classic example. Akechi had the tenacity and willpower, and cockroach-like ability to survive whatever life threw at him—whether he particularly wanted to or not. But one thing he lacked, the one thing which had always kept Ren going and fighting against the worst odds—was hope. Clever as Akechi was, he was fatalistic and far too practical. The type of person who’d be looking for a key or waiting for someone to unlock the door while Ren would be looking for a window to climb out of.

Akechi made a little “tch” sound and said nothing.

“I don’t know why you think hope is such a ridiculous idea,” Ren muttered. “Both of us have survived worse and found our way out of more dangerous situations.”

“In the Metaverse, yes,” Akechi sniffed. “Where we had unique talents and advantages, and when we were fighting alongside other people. This is the real world—there are _rules_ here that we have to take into account. This isn’t cognition.”

“We just need to find out what rules we can break,” Ren said. He glanced around the room. “There are at least six cameras in here. If we find blind spots…”

“You were thinking of Kaneshiro’s Palace, weren’t you?” Akechi asked through a smile.

“Now that you mention it, I am.” Ren grinned back. “But since finding out that Futaba had been bugging LeBlanc, it’s become second nature to keep an eye out for surveillance cameras around me, and work out which spots they miss.”

The mention of Futaba and surveillance was still a sore patch for Akechi, who shifted the topic abruptly. “There are cameras in the _bathroom_.”

Ren made an unimpressed face. “That’s… not creepy at all.”

“I suppose it’s consistent, I guess.” Akechi sighed. “And while the rules never explicitly stated so, I suspect that the tasks need to be performed in view of the camera. Otherwise there are… probably ways to fake them.”

“I can’t exactly fake taking blood from you…”

“The other one,” Akechi said awkwardly. “I’m not sure how they’re going to ask for verification that the task has been completed beyond seeing it for themselves.”

“Maybe there _are_ some loopholes here,” Ren thought aloud. “Perhaps a near enough is good enough strategy would work… maybe we don’t need to take six hundred mils of blood from you and they’d be okay with thereabouts…” He face lit up with the idea of cheating their captors, but Akechi frowned.

“We have no idea what we are dealing with here. What happens when you’ve taken a sizeable amount of blood from me, and it’s not enough, and then we not only don’t get the points, but we have to repeat the task? Their “try again” ruling. Maybe _that’s_ how people have been here for a month and not progressed their way out?”

Ren wanted to tell him he was being overly argumentative and pessimistic, but knew he was right. Until they had a better idea of who—or what—they were dealing with, making rash moves and being cocky was probably a bad idea. He could see Makoto nodding to everything Akechi had just said in the back of his mind, and smiled to himself sadly.

“I do have one idea though,” Akechi said quietly. “Come into the bathroom, I’ll show you.”

Ren’s eyes widened again, but he followed. It wasn’t like there was anything else to do, and Akechi sometimes had crazy flashes of genius that had helped them out.

All he did, though, was walk into the bathroom and turn on the shower faucet as hard as he could, as well as the fan. Did he think steam would obscure the cameras? The fan ran almost silently and nothing happened beyond the steam thinning around them.

“What are you doing?”

“Look—” Akechi hissed in a low voice over the shower spray, as Ren seated himself on the toilet, “I don’t know if they have microphones in here, but if they have installed all these cameras and they’re studying us this closely, it’s highly likely that is the case. And not being sure who is running this or where or how they found us—I’m just suggesting here that—we watch what we say about our—” he dropped his voice again—“Our former involvement with particular activities. And not let the code names slip.”  
  
Ren looked at him, confused. “Why does it matter?”

“They don’t need any more reasons to hold us here or to make us disappear.”

Ren nodded. That was an astute consideration from Akechi, actually. He considered how Ryuji would probably have started loudly talking about their Phantom Thieves glory days on the _bus_ —and felt another pang of relief that he was here with Akechi instead. But he missed Ryuji. Ryuji and he would have found something to talk about easily. They would have made jokes. Ryuji would have been animatedly excited about dinner. He wouldn’t have thought escape was a stupid idea. It wasn’t _awkward_ when he hung out with Ryuji; he didn’t feel like any part of him had to watch his back, even though Akechi, so far, had been perfectly reasonable and they were still kind of friends.

He just felt a warm kind of comfort with Ryuji that he didn’t have with Akechi. Sure, there was something _else_ between them, but Ryuji being here instead would have been easier in a lot of ways. And probably more entertaining.

Then again—the idea of extracting 600mls of blood from his best friend—who had already survived pain and abuse and injuries—and who needed to be in peak health because he was an athlete—was something else. Ren knew he’d have probably made things weird by insisting Ryuji give him a handjob instead.

They were interrupted by a loud “Ding ding ding,” more persistent and almost alarm-like, emanating from the television and overriding the pelting of the shower spray.

“What’s that?” Ren’s voice had returned to its normal volume, and Akechi turned off the taps and rushed out.

The television screen flashed with vibrant, alarm-like red, displaying a “Warning” logo.

They looked at one another, and then at the screen as new text replaced the flashing screen.

_Points will be deducted for intentional wastage or misuse of resources provided, including food, water, and other amenities._

“Oh,” Akechi said. He looked around the room, “My apologies.” His voice was laced with deep sarcasm, but he turned to Ren. Not saying anything, unsure if they’d been heard in their brief undertone discussion in the bathroom, they exchanged a look of acknowledgement. Clearly the operators of this experiment _weren’t_ playing around, and were letting them know their place early in the game.

The television had returned to normal, but when they selected the general menu showing the rooms—no one else had opted to share their details and nothing had changed amongst any of the others—two points had been subtracted from their five.

Akechi looked at their square with wide-eyed horror.

“I’m so sorry, Ren,” he muttered. “I didn’t know they would do that.”

Annoyed, but realising there wasn’t much point in arguing, Ren grimaced. “We know now, don’t we?”

“I’m really sorry—that was reckless of me.”

Ren shrugged. “It was two points. We still needed another ninety five, so it’s not like you cost us another day… the only way we get enough points to shave off a day is if we release the camera information.”

“I still don’t want to do that.”

“Neither do I.”

At least they were agreeing, but an odd tension filled the air, a very real sense of just how oppressive the conditions really were.

“Those points can buy us luxuries, apparently,” Akechi said. “Since I wasted two of them by wasting water, you can have the other three for something if you like.”

Ren shrugged. It was a generous offer, and clearly Akechi was apologetic, but there was nothing Ren particularly wanted right now, except to be free of this place and this awful experiment.

“I might go and have a shower myself,” he muttered. It would kill time, and he’d get to use the bathroom, which, he had to admit, looked great… even if it was filled with cameras. He couldn’t just spend the next ten days not washing because the facility was being watched by a Big Brother with a taste for sadism.

“I’ll have one afterwards,” Akechi said blankly. “Try not to use up all the hot water.”

Ren didn’t feel like sitting up and watching television or playing on his phone after he’d changed into his pyjamas. He’d felt he’d handled the camera issue by draping a towel over the glass wall of the shower, affording him some degree of privacy, and leaving the fan off, allowing the bathroom to steam up. He’d half expected the alarm to go off again, but it didn’t.

This was all about testing a new set of boundaries, he realised as he heard the spray of water coming from the bathroom while Akechi showered. He’d turned the lights off and was lying in the darkness, having taken his clothes through to the collection chamber, lying in wait. It was about finding how much privacy they could carve out for themselves, in the same way that you sized up a new teacher to find out just how much you could get away with in their classes, only now, this situation and finding that sweet spot might mean the difference between early escape and outsmarting their captors and… not. He thought of Room Number One and their extended stay, and shuddered. Ten days. That was all it was going to take. Ten days and whatever tasks they had to choose.

He opened one eye as he heard the water stop, and moments later saw the glow of the bathroom light creep out into the main area. The sheer silence, the… _vacuum_ of noise that existed here was unnerving, too: Ren was used to the sounds of cars or late night delivery trucks, of drunks conversing and alley cats and bottles breaking, of wind or rain or… _something_ at night; not this sterile and weird silence.

Ren watched as Akechi padded across the room, his shadow extending across the floor as he found his way to the collection chamber with his clothes. The novelty of having their laundry attended to wasn’t worth the rest of this.

He snuggled into the mattress, pulling the covers over him, secretly glad that Akechi hadn’t let him sleep on the floor, trying to offer him as much space and access to the bedding as he could. Akechi deserved a proper night’s sleep given what was going to happen to him tomorrow.

Neither of them said goodnight to the other, and the deafening silence meant that every rustle, every breath, was amplified to Ren’s ears.

He suspected Akechi didn’t sleep well, either.


	3. Day One: 3 pts

The television served as an alarm to get their attention the following morning, though they were both quietly awake before it sounded. The way it cut through the eerie, dense silence made it seem louder and more ominous than a simple “ding, ding, ding” should have been, and it made Ren wonder how—assuming they managed to get out of here, which was all he _could_ assume—he was going to react to regular but unexpected noises afterwards.

Neither he nor Akechi seemed to have early schedules any more. Ren’s changed weekly, depending on whatever hours he could rustle up at his various places of employment, and early morning store opening was usually left to managers, not a lowly casual like himself.

Akechi, who’d previously kept a strict early morning start with school and television appearances and work for various people, seemed to appreciate and bask in the change of pace. No longer in school or the public view, he could sleep in when he wished, and he tended to work in the evening anyway. In some ways, it was just another suggestion that he’d relaxed, but he hated it: the relaxation now felt like an unambitious life, an _existence_ , spiralling out of control, letting himself go. And he was unsure what to do to remedy any of it.

Neither of them had slept well the previous night. Maybe it was the different mattress, unfamiliar but not uncomfortable (thankfully); maybe it was the different environment and the lack of natural sound and light; maybe it was lying next to a friend in bed like this. Most likely, it was a combination—with the glazing of stress and horror at what they were going to have to do to survive.

The television screen, after alerting them to its activity with the alarm, changed, now displaying a written message.

_Good morning_

_Breakfast will be provided in the collection chamber at 0730. Please ensure the door is closed and return your plates to the chamber when finished._

_Please be advised that tampering with the fittings in your room or damaging the facility will result in loss of points._

_Have a nice day._

Ren glared at it. That “Have a nice day” at the end was just rubbing salt into the wound. Instinctively, he glanced towards the window, to see the morning sunshine glow—artificial, definitely, but still appropriate for the time of day, and quite beautiful—peering in at them.

“Do you think it’s actually—” he glanced at his phone screen, making a mental note to plug it into the charger—“Seven?”

Akechi gave a little nod. “I suppose so. Then again, I suppose they could manipulate time as much as they like while we’re in here. We could have slept for a day and not noticed. Theoretically they could have us sleep for days on end, I suppose. To us, we might have been here for a day, on normal time, a week could have passed.”

Ren frowned. Akechi had verbalised exactly what he’d been considering. But surely it didn’t benefit their captors to keep them there longer without them _doing_ anything, right? And if they were kept there for weeks on end, surely _someone_ in their reality would wonder where they were? Then again, people were used to Akechi disappearing and he had no close contacts, it seemed. _Akechi_ could disappear… he couldn’t, at least.

So he liked to think.

“I don’t think they’d do that. And even if they are, I guess all we can do is trust them.”

Akechi nodded wordlessly. Trusting them, knowing all the time that they were manufacturing this reality, was a tall order.

“I wonder when they’re going to provide equipment for the task,” he mused. He wasn’t looking forward to playing phlebotomist, he just wanted to get it over and done with so they’d be ten points closer to getting out.

Akechi shrugged. “It’s probably listed in the rules somewhere.” He touched the tablet in front of the television screen. “Here, I’ll take a look.”

He clicked through the menus, finding the rules, as Ren plugged in his phone charger. Ren suspected that this was what they were going to be doing a lot of the time; small insignificant time-killing tasks for distraction. Like Akechi, he had games on his phone, but didn’t want to resort to playing them until he was well and truly bored, saving them as an emergency option.

“It says here that after dinner equipment and instructions for the selected task will be provided and that we have until midnight to complete it. Otherwise, it all just rolls over to the next day and we hang onto the items.” He paused. “I imagine in this case they’ll provide needles and tourniquets and things.”

“I suppose we know what the sharps bin in the collection chamber was for.”

They fell silent until the light above the collection chamber door came on. It was a distraction, an interruption to the monotony of nothing, at least. When the light turned off, they both eagerly sprang up from where they sat, curious, at least, to see what breakfast would be.

Once again, the food was appealing—more than appealing, Ren thought—a full traditional Japanese breakfast that was beautifully prepared and arranged. This time it was accompanied by a pot of green tea, and a pitcher of orange juice, and both of them eagerly accepted their plates and sat down to eat with relish.

“At least we’re getting the proper hotel experience with regards to the food,” Ren mumbled through a mouthful of rice. “I mean…”

Akechi nodded. “In a former life I’d have photographed this and put it on my blog.”

Ren smiled. “ _Former_ life? You aren’t doing that any more?”

“The Detective Prince is living a much less public and glamorous lifestyle nowadays.” He took a sip of his juice, savouring the pulp—they’d used real, fresh oranges—and studied Ren’s quizzical expression. “I _like_ not having to keep up appearances. It did get tiresome.”

“I suppose there was a lot of pressure.”

“Yes.” Was that ambiguity in his voice?

“Surely you miss _some_ parts of it, though? Maybe not the expectations and the fans following you around, but… there were perks, right?”

Akechi just stared at him.

“Surely you… I dunno, got in places, got free stuff?” Ren felt awkward. “Those aquarium tickets—”

He’d just blurted it out. The visit to the aquarium had been strange; one of those almost-dates which had been interrupted by a curious but thankfully discreet Ohya, who’d seemed a bit surprised to see them there but not in the least bit judgemental. She’d seemed as surprised to see them as they’d been to see her, she’d blurted out something about them being there, it had been awkward, and they’d spent the rest of the day quietly looking at the exhibits.

“Oh. _That_.” Akechi focussed intently on his grilled fish. “I actually bought those.”

Ren distinctly recalled being told someone had given them to him; he’d assumed the TV studio or the aquarium itself, hoping to drum up some traffic from fans eager to see a spot the Detective Prince chose to hang out. But come to think of it, he hadn’t taken photos for his blog or publicly mentioned being there.

He smiled slightly. Of course, it had all been part of the ruse, part of the seduction, part of the means to getting him to let down his guard so Akechi could get closer to him. It didn’t mean anything. The fact that it was a popular date spot, though, that Ohya was actually _there_ writing a piece on date spots— _no_. He wasn’t going to think about that, because that begged the question of _How did Akechi_ know _?_

“Well, thanks,” he said awkwardly. “Despite the weirdness with Ohya, it was a fun day out.”

“Really?” There was hesitation in his voice, and Ren noticed that his chopsticks had frozen in his hand. “I’m… glad you enjoyed yourself. I did too.” And then he focussed on his food again, a tiny smile gracing his lips, like he’d solved a puzzle no one else had noticed.

“Yeah. Thank you for inviting me.”

What had felt like a reasonable answer now felt clumsy and stupid, and he regretted it, doing exactly as Akechi was, and focussing on his breakfast instead.

When they finished, and packed away their plates, closing the collection chamber door behind them, Ren glanced at his bag of clothes.

“I suppose I should get dressed,” he said. Akechi nodded. “I mean, I probably could wear my pyjamas all day if I wanted to, but I’ll need them this evening.”

“Yes.” Their conversation had grown uncomfortable again. “I’ll go into the bathroom and change.”

Ren didn’t question his sudden, well, shyness—after all, he’d dressed and undressed in front of Akechi before and it wasn’t quite this awkward, though he was grateful for it, not entirely sure why. Something had changed between them, but he wasn’t sure at what precise point in time it had any more. Up until recently, there were two distinct time periods in his mind: Before Akechi Tried to Kill Me, and what lay afterwards. Sifting through the memories and reconciling them was difficult. How much of the “before” Akechi was genuine? The “After” one clearly was, but much harsher and cooler in many ways, and they’d never really discussed anything about the situation, except a brief acknowledgement that it was all in the past.

Ren wasn’t sure _what_ to think any more about him, except that there was still some bare thread of friendship between them that it seemed that Akechi, for all his issues, wasn’t quite willing to discard.

But he was glad to be able to dress in privacy, and did so quickly, on the other side of the room, near the bed. He still wasn’t comfortable with hidden cameras spying on him.

Akechi emerged from the bathroom dressed in another atypically casual outfit. It was still a bit dressy by ordinary standards—Ryuji wouldn’t have worn a short-sleeved cotton shirt with a collar and chinos on vacation—but it was a far cry from the ties and argyle and the trench coat Ren was more familiar with. His dress sense was almost symbolic: he rarely seemed to relax; Ren couldn’t imagine him dressed as he was, in a pair of faded charcoal shorts and a retro games shirt Futaba had found for him in Akihabara.

“So what do we do now?” he asked. “We still have several hours before… the task.”

“I hate that we have to wait for this,” Ren said. “I wish we could just get it over and done with. Move onto the next thing.”

“I can’t say I’m a fan of it, either. I feel like a death row prisoner awaiting the inevitable.”

“Except that I’m only stabbing you in the arm and taking some blood.” _It’s not like I’m shooting you in the head or anything_ , Ren wanted to add, but didn’t.

“Six hundred mils is still quite a sizeable amount,” Akechi noted. “Not enough to kill most adults, but enough that if that much blood were to be found at a crime scene, there would be concerns for the victim.”

“I wonder what would happen if you had some sort of blood disorder,” Ren mused. “If taking that much could kill someone, why do it on the first day? Doesn’t it skew their intentions of the experiment?”

Akechi grimaced. “I’m still trying to work out whether or not this was all mere chance or they actually know things about our respective backgrounds,” he said. “And I keep going back and forth on it. Statistics was never my strong area: what’s the _chance_ of this being mere chance?” He shook his head. “I’m probably overthinking it.”

“I’ve had the same thoughts,” Ren admitted. “Or, what if it was someone else here with me rather than you. What if it had been Ryuji, Ann and I? Or Sojiro and Futaba with me? Would they have made us do the same things?”

Akechi nodded in understanding, but didn’t offer his own comparison. But then again, Ren wondered, who else would he have feasibly arrived with? He had openly admitted that he didn’t have close friends; his awful father and some business associates and underworld figures weren’t really the types of people you went on an Okinawa vacation with.

“I’m glad it’s you, I suppose,” he muttered. “Just as I am glad it’s just the two of us, and not the rest of… the group.” Had he almost blurted out who they were? Ren was glad, too: their slightly adversarial relationship made this easier than if he was having to hurt, say, anyone else. And the idea of the _other_ task was just wrong in a super uncomfortable sort of way.

Then again, it came with extra complications as it was, and Ren couldn’t shake the sense that things might have turned out differently if so many of the variables had swung in a different direction or not existed at all. He remembered telling Akechi, oh so long ago back at the Jazz Jin, a few select morsels of his homelife before he’d arrived in Shibuya. Had Akechi used that to gain his trust? Possibly, but he couldn’t deny that the situation between them before that had been charged in a skewed, possibly deeper way. What if, though, Akechi had _not_ been the Black Mask? What if Ren hadn’t been the leader of the Phantom Thieves? In all likelihood, they wouldn’t have met. But, still… what _if_?

He didn’t know how to address any of this, and the idea of doing so felt silly. So he just nodded and agreed, hoping sundown would come sooner rather than later.

Ren looked at the printed instructions in his hand, and the tray of equipment on the trolley.

It seemed morbid that it was the same trolley dinner—and presumably breakfast and lunch—had arrived on, with each of the items sealed in sterile plastic.

Akechi was watching him uncomfortably, watching Ren’s eyes scan down the instructions, the stoic frown intensifying with concentration.

“I’m… not sure I can do this,” he murmured quietly. “There’s… a lot here.”

Akechi was trying to avoid being infected by Ren’s apprehension. “If I could take your place, I would, but—”

“You think they would care if we did that?” Ren asked. A little bit too hopefully.

“—of the two of us, you’re the one who has more experience with medical procedures.”

“Yeah, as a _guinea pig._ ” He remembered what had become Dr. Takemi’s affectionate nickname for him and frowned. Dr. Takemi, despite her sometimes morbid humour, was always gentle with him; she was trained in this, though, she was familiar with taking blood samples. And they’d only ever been _samples_. Not a bag the size of the one included with the equipment, clearly marked at a fill point.

“I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing that to you,” Akechi said. “What if I got it wrong? What if I pierced through the vein?”

“So you’d feel more comfortable with the _other_ option?”

Akechi fell silent, and looked at the implements on the trolley.

“I suppose this is going to work best if I lie on the bed. And we move the stuff up here, so it’s within reach and—”

Ren was only partially listening as he reread the instructions for what felt like the thousandth time.

 _Fifteen to thirty degree angle, fifteen to thirty degree angle…_ How the hell did he know what that _was_ , anyway? It wasn’t like they’d included a protractor with the various wipes and needles and other accoutrements.

He nodded to himself, and exhaled deeply, trying to remember what Dr. Takemi always did. Initially, she’d suggested that he not look as the needle entered his skin, that he think about something else while he clenched his fist. She’d try to distract him with humour.

Akechi wasn’t the type to _not look_ , though. Akechi did everything with his eyes open, forcing himself to witness and accept his part in things. Ren could imagine how he’d react if he suggested not looking.

“Are you comfortable like that?” Ren asked nervously. He’d opened and grabbed the tourniquet, and was loosening it. At least he knew how to apply one of these; he’d seen Dr. Takemi do it enough times.

“Yes,” Akechi said tightly. Holding out his right arm as Ren looped the tourniquet around it, he watched passively, his voice and expression suggesting he was anything _but_ comfortable. Ren tried to not think about it, and concentrate on the job at hand; doing all this in the right order and not missing a step.

“Are you ready?”

“I suppose so. Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Ren tightened the tourniquet a few inches above Akechi’s elbow. It felt sturdy but not too tight, nonetheless, he looked at his friend. “Is that too tight?”

“No.” An awkward pause. “I’ll tell you if anything seems off and we can stop, all right.”

“Okay… then I guess I’m going to do the sterilisation now—” He pulled on the latex gloves included with the items.

“That’s probably a good idea.” Akechi’s voice was the same tight and uncomfortable tone it had been earlier, like he was gritting his teeth behind his lips and trying to avoid snapping. Ren decided to continue in silence, tearing open the alcohol swab and pressing it down on the soft skin on Akechi’s inner forearm, where he intended to insert the needle.

He’d never really looked at Akechi’s arms—or any other part of him—in detail like this before. His inner arms were soft and pale, with a undercurrent of a greenish-blue vein resting below, swollen, like a sea snake lying in wait. It was weird focussing on a detail like that, but he knew he had to in order to get this right and get their ten points.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he was still convinced this was less awkward than the other option.

The instructions had said to wipe the area for around thirty seconds, and he did, pointedly ignoring Akechi’s face and slight movements at the touch of the cool alcohol swab on his skin. They were both psyched up for this moment, and the fact there were multiple needles included with the kit seemed troubling—what if he screwed it up? What if he couldn’t do it? What if he was like those horror stories people told about nurses who didn’t know how to find veins, or like Makoto who’d told him she had “hard to find veins,” whatever that meant, which resulted in multiple stabbings in attempts to procure a blood sample?

“Oh,” he said, remembering, focussed with the wipe, having almost forgotten to mention it, “You need to clench your fist.”

Akechi silently clenched his fist, pulsing it. Was he meant to do that? Ren didn't know. And it made his arm tremble very slightly, in a way that terrified Ren—what if the trembling caused him to _miss_ with the needle?

He threw the wipe on the tray, and grabbed the needle. It was different to the ones Doctor Takemi used, probably a different brand or something, and attached to a thing that allowed for the tube leading into the blood bag to be attached.

“Okay—” he said, his voice full of nervous concentration. With his left hand, he held the just-cleansed skin taut, trying to steady and position the vein into place; and with the right, focused on inserting the needle into the now prominent dark line rising towards the surface.

_Fifteen to thirty degrees, fifteen to thirty degrees…_

He felt the brief resistance of the skin, and watched as the needle penetrated it, hoping frantically that he’d hit the right spot, done the right thing, not fucked up this and wouldn’t have to start over.

Akechi flinched.

Ren’s automatic reaction was to turn to him with concern, and he looked uncomfortable and nervous, but not pained, and was glancing down at the needle, unable to turn his gaze away, in a sort of silence that suggested that he had absolutely no idea what to say.

The entire event was surreal. It was like something out of a dream—or a nightmare. Pieces of things he was familiar with: Akechi, having blood samples taken, the overwhelming sense of discomfort, the smell of medical alcohol—but warped into something unfortunately real yet unbelievable.

He watched as red started snaking up through the tip of the catheter, each moment feeling like it took longer than the microseconds it actually was taking, as he taped it down. Attaching the tubing to the end, he looked on with a fascinated sort of horror as the red almost instantly coursed through the line and into the bag.

He hadn’t expected it to work. He hadn’t expected blood to move so quickly. He hadn’t expected it to be quite that _red_. His own blood had always seemed darker—he giddily mentally reminded himself to ask Doctor Takemi about that next time he saw her.

And he hadn’t expected Akechi to just lie there and passively take it, not really looking, not really _not_ looking, not saying anything as though he were afraid to break whatever silent spell had a hold on them.

Eventually, Akechi did speak up.

“I think you need to remove the tourniquet now.”

Ren merely nodded, watching the now-red line leading to the bag. He wasn’t _sure_ how he expected this to play out, and with trembling hands, undid the clasp on the tourniquet and unthreaded it, trying to avoid touching—or bumping—Akechi.

“I… think it worked,” Akechi said quietly. Ren only nodded again. He felt a strange sort of nausea sweep over him; he’d never really been squeamish before, and it wasn’t the _blood_ , it was the oddness of the situation, the tension, and the random distracting thoughts flittering into his brain now that they seemed to have gotten this far. _What if it comes out? What if this_ does _kill Akechi? What if we still don’t pass the task and have to repeat it?_ And then the next damning one which Akechi verballised from where he was lie, still and careful, like he was terrified of disrupting things and undoing Ren’s shaky-but-effective handiwork.

“What are they going to make us do tomorrow?”

“Hopefully not this again,” Ren grunted. He stared at the blood bag, and felt guilty: here _he_ was, reacting in this manner, when it was Akechi literally bleeding for them both. He’d had to play some version of the “guinea pig.” For Ren, it was painstaking and nerve-wracking, but that was the extent of his suffering.

“No. I suspect they’ll change the tasks anyway. Taking this much blood from someone in a short period of time isn’t sustainable.”

 _But letting you give me a hand job would have been._ Ren grimaced, wishing he’d somehow been able to make a convincing argument for that instead, then felt guilty: all he was doing was effectively piercing Akechi’s skin, he wasn’t having to do anything sexual to him.

“The instructions said something about making sure you drink and eat afterwards,” Ren muttered vaguely.

“I noticed there are snacks in the cabinet underneath the television,” Akechi said. “Since they fed us earlier, I doubt they’re providing any more food tonight.”

Ren looked over at the cabinet. He hadn’t thought to open it, and the way the door seamlessly blended into the rest of the fixture made it easy to miss at first glance.

“The other side is refrigerated,” Akechi said. “There’s your usual soft drinks and a few alcoholic beverages in there.”

“Do you want a drink?” _I do_ , Ren thought guiltily. He refused to look at the bag. Looking at it would just make the whole process seem longer and more uncomfortable.

“Not right now. Perhaps a snack would be nice.”

Ren walked over to the cabinet and opened it, sneaking a look at the refrigerator while he was there. Akechi _should_ really have the sports drink afterwards, he decided. The miniatures of whiskey? He wanted all three of them. But drinking now wasn’t fair; he closed the door and returned to the left side of the bed, opening a packet of wafers and handing them to Akechi.

“It’s hardly nutritional, but I guess it’s better than nothing.”

“Yeah.” He watched as Akechi delicately removed one and popped it in his mouth.

The silence between them grew again, and Akechi absently looked down at the bag.

“It feels like it’s taking longer, the longer this goes,” he said.

Ren didn’t know what to say.

“If we get the points, though, I suppose it’s worth it.” There was a light airiness in his voice.

“How’re you holding up?” Ren asked. “I saw a sports drink in the fridge—you probably should have that after this is done.”

“That’s a good idea.” The haziness in Akechi’s voice was only another addition to the surreal nightmare; just something else Ren was familiar with, which was distorted. “You know, you’re actually surprisingly good at this.”

 _And here he is trying to make_ me _feel better_.

“It’s all dumb luck,” Ren said with a shrug.

“I probably couldn’t have done it,” Akechi admitted. “I can barely chop vegetables evenly.” He frowned.

“This is… a bit different to chopping vegetables.”

“It’s detail work with your hands though. Precision. And you do have a good bedside manner.” The haziness in Akechi’s voice was almost turning into rambling, and it was making Ren uncomfortable again. Akechi was normally so sharp and precise, and a bit prickly. It was just another thing warped by the situation.

“Well thank you,” he said. He was tempted to make an awful quip about a handjob being a task that required dexterity and attention to detail, but didn’t.

“The doctor you worked with taught you well, I suppose. You’re good with your hands.” He gave a small smile then, which was, in some small way, haunting.

“So I guess it was good for everyone that we chose this task and not the other one then.” Fuck it. It had sounded a lot funnier in his head.

Akechi chuckled nervously. “Yes, I think so,” he said. “I’m not sure how we’d have managed that.”

Ren just nodded, glancing at the bag again as Akechi helped himself to another wafer.

“I’m also impressed that you remembered which arm to use. When I’ve had blood tests in the past, I’ve had to advise the medical staff that I’m left-handed.” He popped the wafer into his mouth, chewing on it quietly.

It was… touching… the way he said that. Like, despite everything that had happened between them—the intensity, the suspicion, the assassination attempt, the absence—some part of him actually _did_ appreciate Ren.

“Well,” Ren said, “you’re my—” And stopped there. His _what_? Friend didn’t seem to entirely cover the breadth of their relationship. Rival or enemy didn’t either. Confidant seemed too general and to lack the depth. He hoped Akechi wouldn’t ask for clarification, because he wasn’t sure he _had_ the word to quantify their relationship.

But Akechi, mouth full of wafer, brown eyes wide and interested, was watching him.

“Your _what_ , Ren?”

“You’re one of my team,” Ren said awkwardly.

“Not really, but I suppose that will have to do.” Akechi’s voice had grown vague and lightheaded again. It was the shit-stirring _amusement_ that was what grated at Ren.

“What was I supposed to say?” he asked. Slightly irritated; even when he was lying on a bed, with a needle in his arm, losing what was possibly an unhealthy amount of blood, he was still like _that_.

“I’m not sure, that’s why I was curious.” He swallowed the wafer and passed the box towards Ren. “Would you like one? It just occurred to me that I never offered you any.”

Ren sniffed, waving him away. “No thanks, and you should be eating those.” He allowed himself to glance down at the bag. They were nearly there. Maybe another ten minutes and he’d have to work out how to undo his handiwork, how to stop the bleeding, and how to cap off the bag ready for collection. He reached over to the tray and found the instructions again, reading over them.

“They actually aren’t that bad.”

Ren shook his head. “I’m really not hungry.” In fact, he was feeling something close to nausea, which he hoped would subside when all this was over.

But he wondered: would the nausea follow him once they’d closed the chamber door and gained their ten points, learning that the next task was exponentially worse than this?

All in all, this one hadn’t been too bad. But they both knew this wasn’t going to be the extent of the situation. Ten points. Ten percent.

The anticipation of afterwards was the real problem, and likely something they were both considering, when Akechi spoke again.

“Perhaps the tasks are going to be just random strange and uncomfortable things. Since this one requires taking a significant amount of blood from me, maybe the next will be something absurdly awful like what you’d see on a game show. Maybe they’ll ask one of us to eat raw tripe or something?” 

Ren almost hoped so, and just nodded, as Akechi continued rambling on. His voice still had that breezy, slightly light-headed edge to it, and it was like he was trying to distract himself from what was happening to him.

Determined to keep him distracted and talking— _and conscious_ , Ren dismally thought to himself— _how much blood do you need to lose to fall out of consciousness?_ —he replied. “Maybe this is some kind of awful reality TV show?”

“I considered that, but those require consent, and less risky activities. Even if the people we saw in the video yesterday were only actors, there are rules around what they can expect people to do.”

“Maybe it’s an unregulated one. For the dark web or something.” Ren’s mouth was a tight line as he considered it. Given who they both were, it was certainly a distant possibility.

“Maybe,” Akechi said vaguely. He looked down at his arm. “Did you ever feel _really cold_ when you were giving blood for that doctor?”

“No…” Ren tried to not appear worried. The lightheadedness in his voice, and now this, was unnerving. He glanced at the bag. “We’re nearly done,” he said. “Afterwards you should probably have the sports drinks in the fridge and then maybe a shower to warm up…”

Ryuji had always said most sports drinks were just sugar and water and didn’t do all the restorative things they claimed to, but still, Ren wasn’t sure.

“I suppose you’re right.”

There was an elongated stretch of silence between them as they waited for the bag to fill. The blood in the tubing seemed darker and slower now. And Ren couldn’t help but think that probably Akechi was not entirely letting on just how awful it was making him feel. Just like he did about everything _else_.

That, in and of itself, worried Ren. Both he and Akechi were reasonably stoic when bad things happened. If this was a psychological experiment, was the aim to just see how far they could be pushed into reacting? Perhaps the testers would go easier on them if they got a reaction earlier? If taking blood from Akechi pushed both of them to a limit, would it mean the testers would go easier on them for the next task? And conversely, if they remained quiet and compliant through the tasks, and the testers wanted to see a reaction—or a breaking point—what depths would they go to in order to get that reaction?

Maybe they could discuss this in the bathroom or something. Obviously not quite the way they had tried having a private discussion in there earlier, but maybe while one of them showered. The other could sit on the toilet seat facing the wall to maintain some degree of privacy—he doubted Akechi wanted company when taking a shower.

“I think we’re almost done.” Akechi’s voice was relieved. “That bag looks like it can’t take much more.”

Ren glanced down at it, and then at Akechi’s arm. He’d broken the train of thought, the repetition of how to finish up, and reached for another alcohol swab and some cotton wool which he placed over the site of the needle. Squeezing down hard—releasing the pressure a little as Akechi flinched, he deftly slid the needle out and held it up. Akechi had reached over and was pressing the cotton to the site, as Ren secured the bag.

Funny, in a previous life, securing the bag had meant something else in terms of their activities.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, rushing back to Akechi. “I think I’m meant to put tape over it for you.” He did so without waiting for any agreement, hoping that the bleeding had stopped. Even through the layer of latex, he could feel how cold Akechi’s skin was.

“Hang on, I’ll get you the drink.”

Carefully placing the bag back on the tray, he went to the bar fridge and grabbed a bottle of sports drink. He shook it, unscrewed the cap, and returned to Akechi, who was gingerly sitting up now, his right hand clenching down on the needle site.

“Thank you for doing this,” Ren said, passing him the drink.

Sipping the drink, Akechi just nodded weakly, almost as though he was lost in his own world. He must have been feeling faint, Ren thought, faint and cold and a bit bewildered, not to mention sore: the needle had been in there, draining him, for what had felt like a long time.

“I’ll pack this up and leave it in the chamber,” Ren said, scurrying off to tidy up. He collected up the rubbish and cast it to the side, dumping it in the bins in the chamber, and noticing, as he wheeled the trolley back in, that there was a pile of clothing resting on the bench that they’d completely missed before. Whoever was on laundry hadn’t bothered to sort it out, but it was neatly folded at least. He grabbed it as he shut the door behind him.

He returned to see Akechi sitting up on the bed, still drinking.

“They sent our clothes back.”

Akechi looked interested. It was all still something of a novelty to them, one they both seemed aware would wear off once they knew how it worked, and which still wasn’t worth this tension and horror.

“Everything’s in one pile. Let’s sort it out.”

Ren plopped the clothes on the bed, sitting next to them, retrieving his shirt and passing the pair of chinos over to Akechi. He grabbed his slacks and singlet, and then looked momentarily confused to see a pair of ordinary looking white jocks.

“Those are mine,” Akechi muttered, reaching over with his left arm. The bulge of cotton and tape looked enormous on him. Or maybe his arm looked skinny.

“Not what I expected,” Ren blurted out.

A tinge of pink came into Akechi’s cheeks then, and he looked away.

“I… don’t know how to respond to that,” he said. “And I don’t think I will.”

Ren realised that the attempt at random, stupid conversation had fallen flat, and Akechi’s awkwardness was making _him_ feel awkward. Once again he considered that if Ryuji had been here—hell, if Yusuke was here—this would all be a lot easier in some respects.

They were thankfully interrupted by the “ding” of the television, and a message popping up. Both of them scooted across the bed and leaned in, anxious to see what was being said.

_Good evening_

_You have successfully completed the task for ten points._

_Points have been added to your tally. Your total is now 13 points._

_Task selection has been updated. Please select the task you wish to undertake for ten points._

There was a brief, quite moment that Ren wished would continue where all he felt was a sense of relief.

They’d completed the task to the testers’ satisfaction. Akechi seemed light headed and tired, as was to be expected, but aside from this, seemed no worse for wear.

“Well done,” Akechi said quietly. He still sounded light headed, but his voice was projecting the exact same level of relief that Ren was feeling. Despite his lethargy, there was a light in his eyes that seemed… hopeful? Triumphant? Something.

“You did most of the work,” Ren said. “Thank _you_.”

“You were the one who managed to do it with minimal fuss and issues. I still maintain that I couldn’t have done that.”

“Let’s just say we _both_ did well. Hooray for teamwork.”

Akechi chuckled.

Then came the lingering silence, followed by the obvious. “I suppose we should select our next task, then.”

The awful crash back down to reality. Ren could only nod in agreement, and grabbed the tablet underneath the television, clicking onto the menu where the tasks were available.

When the screen changed, it was Ren who gasped. Akechi looked entirely defeated, and shrunk back into the pillows behind him.

“Shit,” Ren muttered. Staring at the options in front of him, his anger was a quiet, seething disbelief rather than loud indignation.

“I suppose we now have some idea of how this works,” Akechi said. “It seems that the rejected task remains on the menu, but the completed one changes up a level.

“I am _not_ doing that,” Ren snapped. “ _No_. Not after I’ve just done _this_ to you.”

Akechi nodded, his face pale and worried.

“Maybe we can do it to _me,”_ he suggested. “And we’ll still get the points. Or partial points.”

“The rules and requests seem unfortunately clear,” Akechi muttered. “And I am _not_ doing that to you, anyway, even if it was an option.”

Ren looked at the tasks again. It was unfair. They’d done what they were supposed to, well enough for the testers to award them the points, and now it hadn’t just gone up slightly, but...

_#1: Subject A must create an incision on Subject B’s body of at least 100mm in length and 8mm depth.  
#2: Subject B extracts seminal fluid from Subject A._

“That’s a ten centimetre wound,” Akechi said in monotone. “Nearly one centimetre deep.”

“How are they going to measure that, though?” Ren asked defiantly. “We could probably fake that one.”

“A wound that deep is… going to bleed.” Akechi looked horrified. “I’ve… seen crime scene photographs. Even if we did it on my leg or something, there’s the likelihood of infection and serious deep tissue damage—” He trailed off uncomfortably. “I’m beginning to see why the other rooms have been unable to complete their tasks.”

“I’m not doing it,” Ren said. Panic was welling inside him and escaping through his voice. “Especially not after having taken all that blood from you… but even then… I don’t know if I _could_.”

“I can see why you’d say that, but—”

“But _what_ , Akechi?” His voice was continuing to rise. “But _what_?”

“We could pretend it’s a medical necessity. It is, in a way. I’m sure you could do something like that if you had to cut a bullet out of one of your friends or—”

“ _No._ I am _not_ doing it. I don’t even know if I _could_.” He was shaking with anger and disbelief. “I know the _other_ option is awful, but at least you’re not hurting me—”

Akechi remained silent, looking down at the bed spread in front of him.

“We’re going to _have_ to do the other one,” Ren continued. “You could wear some of those gloves, and look away from me and I won’t look at you and you could, I dunno, imagine you’re doing it to yourself or something.”

“Ren—”

“I am _not_ fucking cutting you like that. I don’t care what you do to me. But I’m not fucking doing that to _anyone_.” He stood up, and paced angrily. “It would be _easier_ if they’d just reversed our positions, if—”

“But they _haven’t_ , and I wouldn’t do that to you either,” Akechi said quietly.

“What?” Mid-step, Ren turned around furiously. “You could put a fucking _gun to my head_ and pull the trigger, but you can’t _cut me_ consensually?”

“I—”

“And you’d prefer to have me do that to you than—”

“Stop trying to play the hero,” Akechi hissed angrily. “We have no choice in the matter and clearly these tasks are only going to get worse. We need to think about this strategically—”

“Well _fine_ ,” Ren snarled. “I volunteer as tribute then. From now on, we select only the tasks that refer to _you_ doing stuff to _me_ rather than _me_ slicing into you.”

“Oh, _charming_.” Akechi’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. “Just like the ones for _you_ didn’t stop at blood collection, do you _really_ think that _mine_ will only stop at—” he used the same wording as was on the screen—“ _extracting seminal fluid_ from you?”

“I don’t _care_!” Ren bellowed. He was shaking with rage, and stormed towards the bathroom.

“So you’d rather turn _me_ into a rapist than perform a medical procedure?” Akechi’s voice was furious and acidic, and despite his earlier lightheadedness, there was a focused, dark-eyed fury in his words. “I, too, wish that our positions were reversed. But they _aren’t._ So we have to try and work out the least damaging way to move forward here. And _that_ means you—”

“Just because _you_ have no problems hurting people, doesn’t mean the same goes for me,” Ren snapped. “I’m _nothing_ like you.”

Akechi glared at him then, and a cold silence hung between them for what felt like a long time.

“We have to choose something,” he said. “And I’m _choosing_ the first option.”

“And I’m choosing _not_ to do the first option.”

“So you’re choosing to make me sexually assault you instead.” The differences between them right now were heightened. Ren was red-faced and shaking, raging almost to the point of angry and frustrated tears. And Akechi’s anger was sharp and cold.

“It’s not sexual assault if I am consenting to it.”

“I’m _not_ consenting to being made to do it to you though.”

Ren scoffed. “It’s funny how _now_ you’re able to see how it feels for _me_. Do you think I had _fun_ taking your blood? Worrying if I didn’t hit the vein and had to start over, or if I actually _hurt_ you, or damaged a nerve, and—”

“You were very good at it, though. Really.”

“I was terrified the whole time. And I felt guilty. Why should _you_ have to be the one to suffer, I mean— if we go with the second one, no one gets hurt. It’s the only logical explanation.”

“You can argue you’re consenting to it, but it’s still not consent if it’s under duress.”

Ren sighed, plopping himself down on the corner of the bed. It was like the rage had died in him, and now he was exhausted, but still angry, knowing he was stuck trying to make a convincing argument instead.

Against Akechi, who unfortunately had a verbal comeback for _anything_. Normally there was something almost fun about arguing with him.

“Look,” he said gently. “I realise it sucks for you, but you …doing that… isn’t going to harm me. I’m not going to get some sort of infection from it. I’m not possibly going to have _nerve damage_ from it. It’s the least harmful option here. I know… you’re not… _into it_ , but we can distance you from it.”

Akechi was watching him carefully as he continued.

“Look, I still have your glove somewhere in my bag, actually,” he said, thinking it through. “If you wore that, and then put a couple of latex ones over it, you wouldn’t _actually_ be touching me, and—”

“Ren—?” There was confusion in his voice.

“What?”

“You… still have my glove?” His voice had softened to a tone of complete shock. But it wasn’t horror, more a strangely awestruck kind of stunned. “From when we had the fight in Mementos and—”

“That was over eighteen months ago. You…hung onto the glove?”

The surprise was infectious.

“Y-yes.” Was it slightly guilty? Or surprised because he didn’t think Akechi would have reacted like that? Ren found him hard to read most of the time, but he sounded almost… touched.

“I see.” Then he snapped back to the cold, unimpressed debate. “What happens when we do all this and it doesn’t work?” he asked. “When we’ve figured out some configuration that doesn’t make either of us feel too awkward, and then you can’t, um, _perform_?”

Ren blinked. It was a reasonable argument, but the way Akechi said it was so… clinical and unaware.

“I’ll… think of something sexy. Close my eyes. I mean…”

“What if you _can’t?_ ”

Ren sniffed. “Look,” he said, exasperated by hopeful. “Can we at least _try_?”

“If it doesn’t work and we don’t get the points, then we’ve spent another day here for nothing except another contentious experience between us.”

“Like that’s bothered you before,” Ren snapped.

“Look—” Akechi stopped. Did he sound _hurt_? Feeling a pang of guilt, Ren wanted to apologise, and then felt guilty that he was effectively forcing him to do something that he seemed really unwilling to do. But then what it that was a ruse just to get him to give in and agree to the first option?

“I’ll acquiesce then. We’ll try it your way, and if it doesn’t work, then you have to do the next _two_ activities that involve doing medical things to me, all right?”

It was a gamble, and Ren hated that he’d been pushed to the wall like this. But he was determined—and confident enough—that “performing” was _not_ going to be an issue. But talking about _that_ was just going to make poor Akechi even more uncomfortable.

“Fine,” he said with a nod. He picked up the tablet, and touched the blackened screen to see it come alive again. He wondered if he could have averted all the arguing by just selecting the task anyway without Akechi agreeing. He checked the box. “You have a deal.”


	4. Day Two: 13 pts

Ren had wanted to sleep on the floor.

He didn’t; he was _furious_ with Akechi for having pushed him into the “deal,” but strongly suspected that the feeling was mutual, and that sleeping on the floor would be seen as being unreasonable. But the pressure that was now upon him— _all because I don’t want to slice into my friend, and I’m not even sure if we’re actually friends any more_ —was maddening.

And Akechi, typical moody, arrogant Akechi who hated losing more than anything—wasn’t talking to him.

At one point, Ren shifted in the bed—he hadn’t meant to, he’d just rolled around under the covers to get comfortable—only to be met with Akechi wrenching the blankets around him, cocooning himself around them with a force that made Ren wonder if the duvet was going to tear in half. He shifted away. Akechi got up and stormed off into the bathroom.

Neither of them slept well.

And Ren couldn’t help but feel guilty even as the glorious fake sunshine flooded their room, the light not really _doing_ what natural sunlight was meant to; glowing but not permeating and warming the room like proper sunshine would. It was like he was just realising how trapped he was, and how unnatural the setting was. And they weren’t even a fifth of the way through it.

Of course, Akechi had made a valid and reasonable point about the tasks escalating. If taking blood became a deep cut, where did things end up if they solely acted on the tasks assigned to him? Both of them knew that death was a potential outcome of the experiment; it had been indifferently stated in the rules. And _that_ enraged Ren, too: he _wasn’t_ going to kill Akechi. Even when Akechi had fought him, betrayed him, fought him again with possibly lethal intent, rejected him and broken him in a way that no one else really had, he didn’t want to kill him. Unfortunately the stakes here meant that killing him accidentally was a possibility, too.

He lay awake in the bed and measured out with his fingers how long the wound requested was, how deep it was meant to go. That was dangerous, there was absolutely no way of lessening the danger there, either. Even a doctor could do something like that and potentially harm someone: that wasn’t a tiny cut, that was practically _surgery_. That required anaesthetic, and didn’t administering _that_ require training? Not to mention, the task had mentioned nothing of anaesthesia being provided.

He felt sick. Once again, if the variables were different or shifted slightly, none of this would be a problem. If it was _him_ having to get injured, he’d put up with a lot; he knew he had a high pain threshold.

But what if the same thing happened but in reverse? He tried considering what it would be like if Akechi was accepting of him doing _sex things_ to him. Under different circumstances, that would— _no_. Even thinking about it now felt perverse.

A year ago, it might have been different; were they ever reaching towards some kind of physical intimacy? He wasn’t sure. Under the dim lighting and in the calm of the Jazz Jin, he’d told Akechi about what had happened when he’d been caught at school making out with an upperclassman on what had felt suspiciously like a first proper date. About the rumours that had followed him around, about his small-enough community and his parents eventually finding out and being disgusted.

Not disgusted, _cold_. They’d hardly said a word to him after that, but he knew: something in their eyes had changed, an understanding that he was _unworthy_. There’d been the vague threat from his father, “Don’t you _ever_ do anything like that again,” and Ren hadn’t even considered it: it had been bad enough dealing with the fallout from it happening that time. But he knew somewhere deep down, that even if he didn’t even so much as _look_ at another guy again, his parents still knew every time they looked at _him_. The shame and humiliation and the judgement from them wasn’t just something that was going away. And it had broken something within him, changed him, turned the rest of his life into something dreamlike and surreal, an existence that he wasn't really part of any more. 

The scandal had made him a pariah, but he adapted to the isolation well enough. People left him alone: none of them wanted to be associated with “the pervert.” The upperclassman had changed schools and graduated at the end of the year anyway, somehow averting the whole mess, while Ren, the one who remained in their town, bore the brunt of it.

Ren had become very good at keeping his head down and staying off everyone’s radar, a ghost, going for night walks and avoiding the judgemental stares.

And then he’d found himself in another scandal, which was _nothing_ like the first indiscretion—which he’d thought had been the worst thing that could possibly happen to him at the time—which saw him getting charged with assault and sent to Tokyo.

He wasn’t sure _how_ the whole story had come out to Akechi at the Jazz Jin, but it _had_ , and he wondered then if that was what Akechi had latched onto: the isolated loner gay guy who had walls of razorwire around him because getting close to people ended in hurt, and he’d found an in to use to his advantage. Possibly: Akechi was smart and read people like comic books, and knew how to charm and seduce everyone. Ren had for some reason suspected he was a kindred spirit, and that the repeated requests for company suggested that maybe there was a blossoming interest on his part... right up until he heard the recording Futaba had taken.

And he’d been stunned and hurt. It wasn’t something he could talk about with anyone else, either; he had to play along, they’d take down Akechi, or Akechi would die, and then he wouldn’t have to think about it after that.

He’d been so sorely tempted to tell Sae everything about him in the interrogation room. To maybe embellish the truth a bit, to leave the prosecutor with some juicy gossip about the Detective Prince that would be written down on the record, that the entire police department would see, that would travel through the rumour mill and destroy his fangirl appeal and celebrity status.

But he _couldn’t_. He was hurt, he was furious, he was shocked, but he _wasn’t_ a snitch, and he wasn’t going to hurt someone in the same way as he’d been hurt back home. And anyway, Akechi had never actually _said_ anything about his own preferences. He just seemed indifferent to all the female attention, didn’t seem especially interested in any of the female Phantom Thieves, never mentioned a girlfriend, and seemed to flirt outrageously with Ren in a fashion that looked promising, but in hindsight was all probably just bullshit. If Ren had been heterosexual, it would have probably been double dates with girls, and locker room talk without girls; Akechi was a chameleon, capable of being whatever people needed him to be.

So why, then, was he so damned insistent on _not_ doing this? Sure, he’d agreed to it— _acquiesced_ , he’d said—but he wasn’t happy about it, as though doing _that_ was somehow worse than risking permanent tissue damage. If anything, he had an out: surely in the rules of ultra-toxic masculinity, a handjob between bros wasn’t gay if it was either that or dying?

He stepped out of the bed, and made his way into the bathroom as the TV pinged awake, likely with another wakeup call and deceptively benign message wishing them to have a nice day.

Trying to soothe himself under the shower spray, wishing he could enjoy the warmth and the luxurious toiletries that had been provided, all he could think about was the inevitable which lay ahead of them. He felt guilty about what he’s said last night: wasn’t he effectively pressuring Akechi into sex? No matter how much he tried to justify it—that it was better than hurting him, that it was better than being the one to harm him, that it was easier, in a sense, to accept a passive role, that it wasn’t permanent, that—

Yet again, his mind flittered back to what he’d be thinking if Ann and Ryuji were with him. What if he’d been tasked with either cutting Ryuji or _Ann_ being involved in not-really-consensual sexual activities? Once again, he mentally sighed, grateful they’d dodged that bullet.

Would it make things easier if he told Akechi that he actually had found him attractive, that under ordinary circumstances this wouldn’t be terribly weird, or, at the very least, that at least he wasn’t completely repulsed? It seemed selfish, but he couldn’t help but wonder if at least part of Akechi’s hesitation was similar to his own when taking the blood: he was bothered by it, and nervous as all hell, but _still_ , the overwhelmingly terrible thing about it was that he knew he was responsible for hurting Akechi.

Then again, he thought, rinsing the conditioner from his hair, he’d literally screamed at Akechi that they were nothing alike in that respect. For two years of his life, Akechi had quite blasely hurt people on someone else’s orders. Possibly innocent people, like Wakaba Ishiiki. Akechi’s concern was probably for himself, not for Ren, and focussing on his own stance in the situation was selfish.

Maybe Akechi was right, and the people behind this _did_ know them very well. The roles they’d been forced to accept were the ones they didn’t want—of course they didn’t want to be in either situation, but they’d both commented that this would be easier if they were in reversed positions. Akechi had a life marked by pain, and tried everything he could to escape it—so the researchers put him in the position of recipient. He was well versed in hurting people though—despite his denial, Ren suspected drawing blood, or cutting into him wouldn’t be too difficult for Akechi— _after all, he shot me in the head_ —but instead was pushed into a role of sexual aggressor—where his image of chivalrous, wholesome heterosexual celebrity was destroyed if he did what he was supposed to. And Ren—the one thing he couldn’t do—and he’d done _a lot_ —“Theft, breaking and entering, unlawful assault, weapons, vandalism”—the interrogator in the cell had reeled off a laundry list of offences—the one thing _he_ balked at was hurting someone innocent.

He stepped out of the shower, quickly wrapping the towel around him. Were they watching him right now? He grabbed his clothes and swiftly pulled them on despite not having dried himself properly.

He wanted to kill Kamoshida at first. It was Ann who had stopped him and Ryuji from doing so, saying she wanted him to atone for his crimes, admit his wrongdoing, be punished with the inescapable knowledge that he’d hurt people, abused his power, driven a teenager to suicide—it wasn’t benevolence on Ann’s part, but a desire for the man to get exactly what he deserved. They had no real idea of how the Metaverse and palaces worked at that point, even Morgana wasn’t entirely certain—but they’d figured out that letting these men with distorted desires live was a fate worse—and fairer— than death.

But the instinct had been there.

He flung the towel above him, back over the shower glass, hitting and knocking down the shampoo bottles rested on the shelf. The clattering echoed through the bathroom, and a second later, the door flung open.

“Are you _all right_?”

Akechi looked panicked, then relieved to see the only casualties were a few plastic bottles. “What were you _doing_?”

“Accidentally knocked some stuff over.”

“Oh.” There was an awkward pause. “I was worried you might have been… doing something else.”

Ren raised an eyebrow.

“I doubt the showerhead would serve as a hanging point and if you tried, it would likely come off and cause a plumbing issue,” was all he said. “Breakfast has arrived, by the way.”

Breakfast was a generous fruit compote with muesli and again, freshly squeezed fruit juice. Ren sat down to eat, noticing that Akechi, in a short-sleeved polo, had removed the dressing from his arm.

“How are you feeling?”

“Apprehensive,” was all he said. “I’d prefer not to discuss it, to be honest.”

“I meant your arm.”

“Oh. That’s okay. It seems to be a bit swollen, but it isn’t especially painful.”

Ren glanced at it. Stormy, dark cloudy bruising now stained the pale crook of his elbow.

“I’m sorry,” Ren said quietly. “Maybe you should put some ice on it or something.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Ren blinked, not saying anything and scooping up a mouthful of peaches and blueberries.

 _He wanted me to cut into him after his body is healing from_ that _?_

“I had a look at the other rooms today. It appears that our contemporaries in Room Number 8 have also completed their first task.”

“They were one of the ones who came in on the same day we did, right?”

“It appears so.” Akechi paused, sipping his juice. “Room Number One has lost points for something, and apparently not made up the difference.”

“I wonder what they’re asking them to do at eighty points. I mean… that’s eight tasks.”

“Or seven, if they chose to live stream their camera feed. Perhaps they took that option and because we didn’t, we can’t see it.”

“I still don’t want to make ours go live.”

“Neither do I. Especially since we opted to do, well, _that_ task.” His voice was tight, and Ren braced himself for another argument. But instead, Akechi looked thoughtful. “I was actually thinking about it: do we even _want_ to see what is happening in the other rooms, anyway? In addition to them seeing _us_ , is there really any benefit to be gained from seeing how much worse things can get?”

Ren nodded, unsure. Akechi made a good point, but possibly there was the element of not being thrown off guard by an unexpectedly awful surprise. But there was also the idea of psyching themselves out watching the tasks get progressively nastier. Not to mention the horror of seeing other people put through hell.

“I think you’re right,” he said. “The only thing seeing other rooms does is allows us to know that there are other people going through this.”

“It’s hard to work out just how much of this is reality,” Akechi continued. “If we accept the premise we’ve been given, that we’re in some sort of study, that there _are_ other people who share a similar fate to us, and that the selection was random rather than deliberate, it means something very different to if the _entire_ reality we’re in right now is fabricated.”

“It’s personal if it’s just us,” Ren said slowly.

“Precisely.” Akechi nodded. “But it could very well still be linked to our individual circumstances. Think about it: I was an orphan. You were, well—”

Ren watched him, wide-eyed, waiting to see how Akechi explained his situation.

“Well… your parents were happy for you to spend a year living in Tokyo without even contacting you _once_ after you blotted your copybook with a couple of things they felt scandalised by. Both of us don’t really have family looking for us. And both of us probably have some sorts of records with social services.”

It was a reasonable suggestion, actually. But were the other rooms—assuming there really were people in the other rooms—full of people like them? Adult orphans and runaways, ghost-like people who didn’t really have anyone and who wouldn’t be noticed if they disappeared for a long stretch of time?

“So what do you think?” Ren asked. “Is it personal or not?”

“I keep moving back and forth on it, to be honest. I think this is easily something the conspiracy could have set up and done—I mean, they were funding research into _other_ scientific areas that were considered controversial and unproven—” the expression he shot Ren in that moment came with the unspoken _if you know what I mean_ –"but I also wonder if there’s nothing personal about it and we just happened to be ripe for the picking because of _what_ we are, rather than _who_ we are.”

“It bugs me that we know so little about it,” Ren said. “There aren’t any clues. We don’t even know if we’re at the hotel I booked. I mean, it _looks like it_ , but if they can replicate the sky outside, they can easily fake a whole hotel room. Is the hotel in on it or do they have no idea?”

“And again, if they _do_ , under what pretences did they become involved? I’m sure most establishments wouldn’t risk their standing and reputation by being involved in something like this. Human rights abuses don’t really make for good customer relations.”

“Exactly.” Ren sighed. “But is even knowing anything at this stage going to help us? When we get out it might, but—”

Akechi continued eating and didn’t comment on Ren’s use of the word “when.”

They spent the day trying to distract themselves with small, mundane tasks. First came collecting up clothing to be washed, then tidying the bathroom after Akechi had showered, mindlessly flicking through the television with its poor reception, and reading over the list of extras they could buy with their points.

“We can get a chess set with three points,” Akechi had mentioned, and Ren just nodded. It probably wasn’t a bad idea, but he didn’t want to commit to anything. Not if there was something else they were going to need further down the track. While the rules hadn’t seemed to have changed, Ren was sceptical: the testers held all the cards here, and could shift things around as they saw fit. At only two days into the experiment, it seemed unwise to spend points.

“It says we can access the adult channel for five points,” Ren noted. He still didn’t want to spend any points, and suspected that the adult channel wouldn’t contain any material he was particularly interested in, but if it served as a distraction or made it easier for Akechi to complete tonight’s task, maybe it would be worth it.

But Akechi shook his head. “If we spend five points, we’re down to eight, which means another day of this. And anyway—” he stopped abruptly before looking past Ren, out at the fake blue sky displayed through the phony window.

“Would it make tonight easier for _you_?” he asked thoughtfully.

“Probably not. I just mentioned it because I thought it might make it easier for you.”

Akechi sniffed. “If anything, I suspect it would make the whole situation even more unbearable,” he said.

“Sorry.”

“No—it’s a reasonable suggestion, and—” his expression shifted to one of almost sympathy—“I suppose if it was one of your other friends it would be a good idea, but I’m not really interested.”

Ren felt a sharp pang of discomfort. Was Akechi uninterested in sex? Was he asexual? Was _that_ why he so passionately _didn’t_ want to take the second task? It made sense: maybe the not-really-dates had actually just been attempts at benign, platonic human closeness rather than anything deeper. And Ren, in an eternally optimistic, kid-with-a-crush kind of way, had only seen what he’d wanted to. He felt stupid. Making Akechi go through with this, he realised, was cruel. It was still better, he supposed, than _cutting_ the guy, but—

“I’m really sorry,” he said quietly.

“Oh?” Akechi sounded confused. “It wasn’t a bad suggestion, I just don’t find pornography particularly inspiring.”

“I meant about—the task.” Ren felt stupid for apologising now. “And for the suggestion, and—” He cut himself off.

“It’s not your fault,” he said. And he sighed again, quietly. “We just have to work out how to get through this. I’m starting to feel like escape is no longer a feasible option.”

“Cutting you like that isn’t an option either.” Ren couldn’t help how adamant he sounded. “But if… doing this is… god, I’m sorry.”

“I just feel like all this would be simpler if our roles were reversed.”

“What, you’d feel more comfortable hurting me?”

Akechi sighed and walked off, heading into the bathroom, where he seemed to remain for a long time.

In the meantime, Ren played mindless games on his phone. He waited, and when the toilet flushed, looked up, momentarily startled. Akechi had said earlier that the shower head wasn’t a feasible hanging point, but what else had he noticed in the bathroom that Ren might not have seen?

He was almost relieved when he saw him walking out, even though he didn’t look particularly happy when he did so.

When the television “pinged” after dinner, it felt like a reminder of what they had been explicitly trying to avoid since their previous conversation. They didn’t remain silent, they’d dropped random, inoffensive observations, from the change in the “weather” on the fake window (“That sunset is quite nice” “I bet the real one is even nicer”) to the evening meal—again, beautifully prepared, delicious Ryukyu sushi this time (“Morgana would have loved this!”) to the time (“It’s getting late, isn’t it?”).

The television was the alert back to reality, and the light outside the collection chamber switched on, indicating that _something_ was happening in the room.

There was a cool silence between them when it switched off, and they looked at one another. Ren wasn’t sure what it signified, because unlike last time, the task didn’t really seem to require any explicit instructions or materials. It seemed like a no-brainer, something most guys had a sense of being able to do from when they were preteens. But curiousity—was there some weird caveat? They didn’t have to store the _seminal fluid_ in a bag or something, did they?—made Ren wonder if there were explicit instructions included, and he opened the door and peered in with trepidation.

Their clothes had been washed, dried, and folded, and again were in a tidy little pile on the shelving, which felt like an icebreaker. Some extra clean towels and bedding were folded next to them; Ren wasn’t sure if he’d just not noticed them before or if they’d been included for the purposes of the task at hand. Nonetheless, taking them into the room didn’t seem like a bad idea, and he loaded them onto the trolley, noticing as he did, a piece of paper with the task written on it—and nothing more—no instructions (he wasn’t sure if this would have been mortifying or amusing seeing a how-to on masturbation written as though it were a medical procedure)—and a bottle of lubricant.

Absent from the trolley was what he had kind of hoped would be there, to put Akechi at some kind of ease—latex gloves.

He wheeled the trolley back into the room, and sat on the corner of the bed.

“So they gave me instructions?” Akechi asked. His voice was unsteady and nervous.

Ren just shrugged as Akechi took the piece of paper and read it. “I guess this gives us a degree of freedom in the matter,” he said tightly, looking at the bottle of lube but still not touching it. “Now, how are we going to do this exactly?”

Ren hadn’t considered the logistics. Would it be weird sleeping in the bed afterwards—even if they made it with fresh sheets—after doing it in there?

“What’s going to be more comfortable for you?” Ren asked. The guilt was racing through him again. He _really_ didn’t want to cut Akechi as the other task had instructed, but seeing him looking this apprehensive was awful.

“No, Ren, _you’re_ the one who has to be comfortable for this, or else it’s not going to work and we won’t get the points.” He looked at the bed. “I suppose you could lie down here and I’ll sit next to you like this—” He sat on the left side of the room, facing the front, his back to Ren—“And that way if you’re facing in the same direction, we _at least_ won’t be having to look at one another.”

It was surprisingly practical, and Ren was glad he’d suggested _something_. He just nodded, and was readying himself to lie down, when Akechi stopped him. “Do you mind if we put some towels over the sheets?” he asked. “I mean—this… _is_ … supposed to get… messy.”

“Good idea.” Unfolding and placing a series of towels over the top of the bed served as a distraction at least. When they were done, Ren wasn’t sure what to do next, and looked at Akechi with a face full of questions.

“Okay, lie down, I suppose,” he said, tentatively grabbing the bottle of lube. “I guess… we’re going to do this.”

“Would you prefer me to have a shower first?”

Akechi shrugged. “Up to you, I suppose, but you had one this morning and I imagine you’ll want to have one afterwards.” There was a sort of urgency in his voice, a _don’t worry about it we just need to get this over with_ tone that made Ren just nod, lying on his back, his head propped against the pillows. From his angle, all he could see was the blacked TV screen, and Akechi sitting next to him, facing ahead.

“Um… Ren… could you… undo your pants, please?”

Ren had never heard him sounding this uncertain and nervous before. He’d felt the same way last night, when he was holding the skin on Akechi’s arm taut, hoping that the needle would enter cleanly and accurately, and he felt a pang of sympathy for him as he unbuttoned his shorts and shuffled them down a bit.

Akechi inhaled, mentally preparing himself. “I’m sorry, Ren,” he said quietly.

The mood was solemn and serious, and Ren was terrified that he’d lose his nerve and all this awkwardness would be for nothing. “Hey,” he said. “There’s those miniatures in the bar fridge… would having a few of them make this easier for you?”

Maybe he considered it. It was hard to tell when Ren couldn’t see his face, but Akechi just looked ahead. “Let’s just do this,” he said, in a depressing, resigned sort of way.

Ren lay there, the cool air in the room and his nerves combining to make his skin prickle. Akechi gently—as though Ren was so fragile that he might _break_ —tugged down on his shorts until his bare thighs and underpants were exposed.

He’d thought that the sloppy, haphazard making out with his senpai was awkward and strange. It had been, but this was worse. At least they’d both wanted it; now, he was feeling a combination of self-loathing and guilt. It seemed unfair for him to get off from this, even if he didn’t want to, while Akechi was gingerly running his hand over him, those long fingers creeping under the waistband of his underpants. Maybe he should have suggested they do this in the shower instead—and he was almost tempted to—but didn’t want to prolong the ordeal any further.

Akechi’s touch was reverent and nervous, like what he was doing was entirely unfamiliar to him. If his theory about Akechi being asexual was right, this was terrible, and he decided that they really _did_ need to discuss things afterwards. Another uncomfortable thing to look forward to: maybe not as awful as having to cut into someone, but hardly pleasant.

He closed his eyes, trying desperately to relax against the pillows and the soft towels below him, as Akechi’s tentative fingers brushed over his underpants. He felt another wave of guilt at the fact that it didn’t feel bad at all, and that under ordinary circumstances, without this sword of Damocles hanging over their heads, this might actually be kind of hot.

 _I’ll think of something sexy_ , he remembered telling Akechi last night, but now the one sexy thought he’d really had was corrupted with the knowledge that it was impossible and exploitative. There was a wrongness associated with thinking sexy thoughts about someone who seemed to be entirely repulsed by—or at least, not into—sex.

Still, that featherlight touch was seductive. And the sooner Ren’s body reacted and just did what it had to—the lack of instructions meant that the researchers would probably be okay with just seeing the _emission_ , he supposed—they could work out where to go from there.

“Are you all right?” Akechi asked gently. His fingers stopped moving and he actually turned around. Ren opened his eyes to see him looking completely guilty, in a broken, scared sort of way.

“Yes,” Ren hissed quietly. “Just… keep going.”

“Very well.” He turned back to Ren. “Listen, if something is wrong or I should be doing something differently or you just can’t keep doing this, you can just tell me to stop and I will.”

“Thanks,” he replied. He wanted to add a “same to you too,” but it felt like if he _did,_ Akechi _would_ stop, and then they’d not only have this awful shared memory and experience, plus an absence of points and at least another day in here together.

And he felt an immense rush of guilt and horror at not offering Akechi the same out he’d just been granted.

He’d relaxed a little bit, though, and he felt a spark of _something_ course through him as Akechi’s hand slipped into his underpants, and the jolt of betrayal as his cock seemed to twitch in interest.

Akechi made a small “Hmm” which sounded encouraging rather than disgusted at least, and even though _Ren_ was now thoroughly disgusted with himself, he could feel the blood heading southward, his cock invigorated and sensitive, stiffening, and pushing against the constraints of his underwear.

Akechi grasped him then, slightly more resolute than before, sending shivers through Ren’s nerves.

_Think of something sexy…_

This _would_ be sexy if Akechi actually wanted to be doing this. He closed his eyes again, as Akechi’s fingers moved upwards, lifting his shirt slightly, exposing his midriff, and his fingers crawled across his skin to slowly peel his underpants down.

“I think this makes things a bit easier,” Akechi muttered to himself, in such a concentrated, deliberate, _earnest_ way that Ren wished he could imagine him lavishing this sort of attention on him for real, in a completely not forced scenario. He could feel himself growing hard at the thought, and twitched on the bed as he heard the snap of the lid on the lubricant bottle.

He wanted Akechi’s hands _on_ him. He hated himself for it, but he was going to secretly harbour the dark fantasy of this, hopefully strongly enough to override the reality that faced him, that this was just Akechi performing out of a sense of duty and obligation.

Still keeping his eyes shut, he listened as Akechi applied the lube to his hands, and capped the bottle shut again. There was something so sweet and thoughtful about the gesture, as though he was desperate to make him as comfortable as possible by not just squirting cold lube on him in a fast and furious manner—he hadn’t considered that Akechi would be _like_ this. Their adversarial relationship, punctuated with what had felt like soul-close emotional intimacy and what Ren had deeply hoped was an obsessive, romantic undercurrent, made the Akechi in his fantasies much harsher and less concerned about things like cold lube—he would be a bit rough and possessive and reckless, manhandling him and giving it his all, just like he did in battle—

“I think this is the warming type of lube,” Akechi said quietly, “I… wasn’t aware they’d considered that.”

Tentative hands ran over him, slick and warm and— _god_ —for someone who seemed so shy and sex-repulsed, his touch felt _amazing._ Ren felt his breath escape him in a deep gasp, momentarily shocking Akechi who shifted around again. “Are you all right?”

Opening his eyes slightly, to see such focus and concern on his face, Ren merely nodded, and closed his eyes again. _Fuck._ Akechi probably had some idea—especially now his dick was reacting as it was, sturdy and solid in his hands—that he was enjoying this.

 _Fuck._ He wasn’t supposed to be enjoying this. But the paradox was that if he _didn’t_ enjoy it, they wouldn’t get points, and it would have been nothing more than an awkward waste of time.

And _shit_ —Akechi’s hands slipped down over his length, twisting around him seductively, the perfect combination of pressure and movement. Of _course_ Akechi was good at this: he was a perfectionist, he was good at _everything_. Oddly enough, Ren was reminded of the glove-throwing incident after their one-on-one down in Mementos, with Akechi screaming at him that he was superior in every way and thus a despised enemy.

 _“You’re better at this than I am,”_ Ren wanted to say, and murmured slightly, pushing up involuntarily into Akechi’s hands. God: _that_ had been the guilty fantasy that fuelled him in the space between Akechi’s assassination attempt and his reappearance in Shido’s palace: it was an angry, confused kind of fantasy where Ren wasn’t sure what to think, but he’d jerked himself off a couple of times, wearing that damned glove, imagining that the Mementos aftermath had ended with them going for a second round underground, which ended with Akechi trying to prove to Ren that he _at least_ outdid him when it came to sexual prowess.

He thought he heard a little gasp of something from Akechi then, a rougher and faster movement following, as his dick slipped in between his hands. He couldn’t help it: he was going to hell, and he was going to have to apologise afterwards, but _damn_ he felt good. Akechi’s grip tightened around him and then moved upwards as Ren’s hips bucked by themselves, a tiny, soft whine slipping out from him.

Akechi gave what sounded like a smug, contented hum of approval, which was enough to make Ren feel like his entire body had turned to liquid. He was warm and melting and _so_ going to hell for this, but it was, in all likelihood, entirely worth it. He felt the slight release of precum escaping him, and Akechi’s grip tighten with one hand, as the other ran a soft, almost exploratory fingertip over his slit.

And then he moaned, his body shuddering, losing control.

He was utterly horrified in himself, and he no longer cared; he was _so close_ , and Akechi seemed to know it, and even if this was only going to continue for a few more minutes, it was worth that eternity in hell, he decided.   
  
He felt the movements of Akechi’s hands speed up, tightening, desperate and furious; the warmth of the liquid running down his shaft and between his legs, and pushed forward, urging him to continue, desperate for release.

Next to him on the bed, Akechi shifted slightly, like he was using all that focus to improve his angle or technique or _something_ , and then there was that overwhelming tightness that paralysed him for less than second, that split second before the release, the moment his brain shorted out and his mind with blank with an intense bliss; going supernova as Akechi gasped out something that sounded like relief and pride and satisfaction at the same time.

He felt the explosion leaking down Akechi’s fingers, thick and lewd and terrible and yet wonderful, his nerves on fire, his back and hips arching up, desperate for him to take every last drop that he could.

And he opened his eyes in that nanosecond, to catch a glimpse of Akechi pulling his hand away, head thrown back, mouth open as though thanking the heavens that they’d successfully completed the task, a quiet, seductive gasp of his own release escaping him.

 _Fuck_ , he’d looked sexy like that. It was so _wrong_ thinking that right _now,_ but _fuck._

His body twitched with the aftershock of his orgasm, and he rolled against the towels, sticky and clumsy with sweat and lube and semen. He didn’t know what to do, and Akechi—whom he could have turned around and _hugged_ right now—jumped off the bed hastily and made his way into the bathroom without a word.

Then he started sobering up.

He felt disgusting. The warm afterglow still ran through him, making him feel languid and tired and in desperate need of a shower, but he could hear water running in the bathroom and felt that Akechi deserved it more; he’d done the majority of the work there. Rolling around, and pulling is soiled pants up, Ren frowned, gathering up the towels from the bed. The least he could do was strip the bed and remove all the evidence of their activity, casting it into the collection chamber before Akechi emerged from the bathroom.

He wrenched the sheets from the bed, removed the pillow cases, undid the duvet cover, and rolled everything up in a sweaty, sex-stained ball of cream and golden fabric, dumping it into the laundry bin in the chamber. In the main area of the room, the television “dinged,” and he stepped out, to find that the sound had brought a wet-haired and slightly awkward-looking Akechi from the bathroom, wearing hastily pulled-on pyjamas.

“I thought I’d remake the bed,” Ren admitted uncomfortably, not quite looking him in the eye.

“I think that’s—” Akechi started to say, as though it was a sensible idea, and they looked at the television screen in silence.

_Good evening_

_You have successfully completed the task for ten points._

_Points have been added to your tally. Your total now stands at 23 points._

_Task selection has been updated. Please select the task you wish to undertake for ten points._

They turned to one another in the moment; two sides of the same coin, yet again—Ren filthy and exhausted and guilty, Akechi looking fresh and almost triumphant and invigorated, and a mutual feeling of relief engulfed them. The feeling seemed even more intense and wonderful than last time, but with it came the awful knowledge that the stakes for the next task would rise.

Akechi wasn’t looking at Ren when he said, “I suppose we had better see what the next task is.”

Ren nodded, tentatively tapping the task menu to see what awaited them.

_#1: Subject A must create an incision on Subject B’s body of at least 100mm in length and 8mm depth.  
#2: Subject A must wear the specified apparatus and orally extract semen from Subject B._

Akechi blanched, and stood there, not saying anything, while Ren, on the other side of the coin, shrugged.

“I suppose I owe you,” he said with another shrug, moving his finger towards the screen.

Akechi slapped him away.

“You can’t be _serious_ ,” he hissed. “This is indecent.”

“Remember how you said you wished the positions were reversed?” Ren asked casually. “I guess they kind of are now. Whatever this thing I have to wear is… it’s not as bad as slicing into you.”

“No,” Akechi said quietly. “I can’t make you do that.”

“We got through the last task,” Ren said. “Why not?”

“I can’t believe you are being so blasé about this,” Akechi snarled, his voice now all over the place, his blissful showered calm gone. “That’s—”

“My decision,” Ren said adamantly. “And I am _not_ cutting you.”

“And what happens if I say that I’m not… _having semen extracted_?”

“So you could do it to _me_ but I can’t return the favour?” Ren hissed. “You’d prefer to make me _hurt_ you?”

“ _Yes_.” Akechi’s voice had returned to something slow and thoughtful. Drops of water fell from his still wet hair onto the carpet. “We’re no longer trying to win, Ren. We’re trying to mitigate damage… you can cut the back of my leg or something. I think there’s more fatty tissue there, it won’t cause any permanent injury—”

“And what happens when it escalates to something worse?” Ren asked. “Even if I could do that to you—and I don’t think I can—what are they going to ask for next? For me to cut you deeper? To remove an appendage? To slit your _throat_?”

He was exhausted and furious now. The task at hand was perverse, sure, but the task they’d just completed had at least been doable, weirdness and guilt aside. Selecting the next one up on that tier seemed to be the reasonable one.

“I went along with that task last time because it wasn’t fair to make you do two in a row,” Akechi said quietly. “I only ask that you show me the same respect.”

“ _You_ don’t have to do _anything_ for that one, though,” Ren said angrily. “The task even says that. It specifies that Subject A— _me_ —has to do the… _thing_. Just like you did.”

“In a completely different manner—”

“Look,” Ren snapped, frustrated. “I’m having a hard time trying to imagine _cutting_ you, I’m not planning on _biting your dick off_ or something. Stop being so fucking stubborn.”

Akechi looked completely taken aback, and stood there, not saying anything. The screen returned to its passive blackness, and silence pervaded the room, until Ren, tired of the situation, stormed into the bathroom to finally have his shower.

Somehow they’d succeeded, and instead of feeling accomplished, this had happened instead.

As he slammed the door behind him, he thought about how he’d left his pyjamas in the bedroom and the bed unmade. Fuck it. Akechi would have to deal with that.


	5. Day Three: 23 pts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the feedback and comments! I've been a bit absent lately due to Christmas-related stuff (Happy Festivus to everyone celebrating around this time of year and hope you enjoy the break to everyone else!) and have been a little distracted. 
> 
> One thing has occurred to me which I'll mention here: this work has ongoing tags as it's being written. While I don't want to spoil anyone for Room No. 9, I'm trying to work out how to hit that sweet spot between warning appropriately and also not giving anything away (and not disappointing anyone who expected to see stuff that I haven't written yet). 
> 
> Things get a bit heavy in this chapter, so if blood and medical things are a squick, you might want to proceed with caution.

The lights were off, the bed was made, and the lump Ren could see in bed from across the room suggested Akechi had called it a night.

He wasn’t snoring. He wasn’t _moving_.

Ren wasn’t sure if he was asleep of not, and padded across the carpet softly, determined to check one thing before retiring himself. He touched the tablet, jumping when the screen came to life with a “ding” and Akechi rustled next to him. No, he _wasn’t_ asleep. But he also wasn't _looking._

He didn’t say anything, and Ren tapped through the menus and glanced over at Akechi. He still wasn’t looking up; he’d pulled the covers tighter around him, balling himself into them, at least giving Ren the chance to do what he was about to do uninterrupted.

Not a great deal had changed between the rooms. Room Number 12 now had two occupants, who’d been there for zero days, with their sampler of five points for disclosing their presence. Less than three days ago, that had been _them_ , and Ren wondered sadly if these strangers knew what they were in for. Maybe it wouldn’t affect them this badly. Most people had _normal_ friendships or relationships, they didn’t have this complication that he and Akechi did.

Room Number One had lost their five points, and were down to forty, even though they had now been there for a total of 22 days. He wondered what had happened; what they’d been forced to do to one another, and shuddered. _They_ hadn’t even completed three tasks, and already they’d hit this point, which he wasn’t sure was a culmination of previous issues arriving with them in Okinawa, or just the sheer pressure of what they had been pushed into.  
  
He shifted into the task menu. What he was going to do would be dishonest and unfair, but an act of mercy. Akechi probably expected it, anyway, he just didn’t want to agree to it.

And then he noticed the screen, and swore quietly under his breath.

Turning around to face Akechi, who thankfully was still tightly curled up in the blankets, he looked at that damning tick in the box.

 _You sneaky, underhanded little_ shit _._

Of course, he’d planned on doing the exact same thing. Making the decision for them, taking the lesser of two awful options. The unchecked task didn’t specify what the apparatus _was_ , but Ren would have willingly worn anything, no matter how humiliating or stupid, rather than _cut_ Akechi. His brain went to the absurd, where he imagined the “apparatus”—these researchers used such clinical terms for things—being something completely ridiculous— some sort of silly costume. If he had to give Akechi a blow job while he was wearing a clown suit or a maid outfit or _something_ —so be it.

He ran his finger along the tablet screen and over the unselected option. He didn’t even know if this would work, but figured it was worth a try anyway—tapping on the unselected task moved the tick into that box.

_So we can change the tasks?_

He felt completely awful. What he was doing was deceptive and unfair, and come evening, Akechi was going to be shocked and horrified as well as mentally unprepared. Just as he would have been if he’d been confronted with a scalpel and a ruler rather than a stupid costume and some flavoured lube or whatever they planned on supplying.

He wasn’t used to this. Since moving to Tokyo and establishing the Phantoms, they’d always agreed upon making decisions together, only acting when agreement was unanimous, _especially_ if it was an issue of anyone being put in harm’s way. He was the leader, technically, but he listened to them, and they listened to him.

It wasn’t lost on him that the reason that Akechi had pulled off his assassination attempt was because they’d listened to him about the date of Sae's casino heist; if they’d only _not_ , and gone earlier, taken Sae’s treasure and caught everyone off guard, perhaps everything that followed would have panned out differently.

But _perhaps_ , he thought guiltily, Shido would have killed Akechi for failing to destroy the Phantom Thieves. They’d have never had that run-in on Shido’s palace, they’d have never met Akechi’s sad, volatile cognitive facsimile, the watered-down sycophant that Shido thought he was—and they’d have never reconnected with him and taken down Maruki.

Memories of that last battle came into his mind; Maruki’s Shadow pleading with them with his toxic positivity saviour complex, offering them the easy way out.

Initially, Akechi had been the only one to outright reject that easy way out. He was prepared to weather pain as part of life, while all Ren’s other friends _liked_ their improved circumstances—not that he could blame any of them. And he’d felt, just as he did now, caught in the middle, not wanting to see his friends suffer, wanting Akechi by his side, and wanting to save the world and fight for the truth and escape the artificial world they were imprisoned in.

Like the hotel room, Maruki's sanitised reality was _nice_. They were looked after there. It would have been _easy_ to remain there, pampered and cared for and not having to think about where their next meal was coming from, wanting for nothing, suspended forever in a weird sort of stagnant bliss. Was that what the people in Room Number 5 were doing? They’d given up, the fight gone out of them at eighty points, and they’d resigned themselves to staying here, their food provided and their laundry washed for them?

When Ren gave it further consideration, Akechi was prepared to accept death over comfort and being controlled. And that scared him: had he, too, noticed the parallels between eighteen months ago and now?

He watched the television screen fade to black, and gently put the tablet back on the TV stand. And quietly slipped beneath the covers, avoiding Akechi, not looking forward to what was going to happen when daylight came forth.

“We need to talk.”

Ren hated those words, and he hated the acidic manner in which he was hearing them at that moment, Akechi glaring at him, as though he had somehow seen everything that had happened in those pre-dawn hours, despite being wrapped in layers of bed clothes.

Ren eyed him carefully. “We do need to talk,” he said. “About a lot of things. And we need to be in agreement on how we’re going to do this.”

A flicker of guilt crossed over Akechi’s face then, like he’d been caught out completely, and Ren watched as the light to the collection chamber door lit up.

“I wonder what breakfast is today?” Akechi asked. He sat on the bed, watching as Ren stepped into the chamber, wheeling out the trolley and positioning himself at the table; it was strange how quickly they’d adapted to the new routine and the early mornings.

A western style bacon and eggs breakfast awaited them under the cloches. It looked—and smelled—appealing, but Ren hardly felt like eating, even though he knew he should. He wasn’t going to score any points—or feel better—if he _didn’t­_ eat anything.

“What do you want to talk about?” he asked tepidly, picking up his knife and fork. He longed to reassure Akechi that the previous task hadn’t been that bad, and that the next one along wouldn’t be, either, but he also _didn’t_ want to get into another argument.

“I think we need to seriously discuss the logistics of these tasks,” Akechi said seriously. “We know for certain how it works now. The unclaimed task remains without escalating, the completed task is replaced by a similar activity that becomes more difficult. So whatever we choose—” _You sneaky fucking_ liar _,_ Ren thought angrily—“unlocks a more extreme version. And currently we’re up to the third task.”

Ren nodded, chewing on a mouthful of toast and runny eggs. All of this seemed perfectly obvious.

“We need to consider what the end point is going to be, and play the choices to _that_.”

“You said last night that we need to mitigate damage,” Ren said. “Already the _cutting you_ task is dangerous and damaging, and if I were to do it— _and I’m not going to—_ it’s going to get replaced by something more extreme.” He took a sip of his juice—grapefruit this morning, pulpy and bittersweet—and continued. “The _other_ set of tasks seem to have an obvious end point which is unlikely to actually harm anyone.”

“Physically, anyway,” Akechi said. “I can’t believe that you spent over a _year_ dealing with people whose problems had manifested in trauma and psychological issues, and you _still_ seem to think that mental damage isn’t as bad as physical damage.”

Ren sighed. “Having to cut you is probably going to fuck me up,” he said quietly. “I almost wonder if these people _did_ , like you say, know something about us, and deliberately assigned us these roles to push us to somewhere awful mentally.” He watched Akechi’s face as he was speaking, wondering if Akechi was going to lash out verbally. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but let’s say I was a different person—let’s say that I still had some resentment towards you about the time you killed cognitive me—” Akechi frowned, unimpressed—“Wouldn’t it be a huge temptation, offering me a knife and effectively telling me to get revenge?” That came out wrong. “Not—not that I actually think like that about it at all. I don’t really hold grudges, I guess.”

Akechi just nodded silently. “I know you don’t actually want to hurt me. You’ve had ample opportunities to kill me or humiliate me since Sae’s palace. And you haven’t… and I remember the argument we had on the eve of undoing Maruki’s reality. I think you quite sincerely didn’t want me to die.”

“I _didn’t_.”

“You just don’t have that… vindictiveness towards people.” Akechi looked down at the tablecloth, his fork idly making patterns in the egg yolk on his plate. “I… can’t say that I’m as honourable as you, I’m afraid.”

“You haven’t tried hurting me either, though. And you got in touch with me when I returned to Tokyo. And… I’m pretty sure you had absolutely nothing to gain from any of this. Even when you were saying you despised me after the Mementos stand off— some part of me still couldn’t hate you.”

“You are extremely optimistic and naïve,” Akechi growled, still not looking at Ren. “It’s actually remarkable that with _those_ attitudes, you’ve managed to stay alive as long as you have.”

“Even Morgana and Ann knew whatever it was from you wasn’t entirely hatred. I think Boss saw it, too.”

“The rest of your friends never trusted me,” he said. “Although I feel like most of that was warranted. I commend their professionalism on continuing to work with me.”

“Thank you.” Ren said.

The situation with Akechi and the majority of his friends was a difficult situation, one he’d been constantly worried would flare up and result in him losing either the rest of his group, Akechi, or all of them. Thankfully they’d had a more serious and time-dependant crisis to worry about which forced them to work together, but the state of affairs between them felt unstable at the best of times.

“It would have been easier, and smarter of you to just let me go and concern yourself with them.”

Ren smirked then. “When have I _ever_ done things the easy _or_ the smart way?” he asked.

“True.” He smiled. “It’s one of the things I like about you, though. You defy logic and the easy solution for the one that aligns with your ethics. Most people… can’t do that.”

Ren felt strange hearing this. Akechi was _fine_ pointing out people’s qualities, like he could recognise them, but Ren wasn’t sure he’d ever heard him express any personal feelings towards them. He made casual, objective statements; he could acknowledge that, say, Ann was beautiful or Yusuke was a talented artist, but never went as far as to say that _he_ was attracted to Ann or that he _liked_ Yusuke’s artwork. The praise made him feel awkward; it was a personal revelation, and he nibbled on some bacon and waited for Akechi to change the subject.

“I have more reason to trust you than you do to trust me,” he said, a sigh clearly evident in his voice. _Even though you are going to get one hell of a shock this evening_ , Ren thought guiltily to himself. “So it’s probably better that we select the task that involves _you_ performing an act on _me_.”

“Well, right now, that’s both of them,” Ren said. “And I’d prefer to do the one that involves _not_ having to cut you.” It only occurred to him _then_ that if they did return to the panel to change their selection, Akechi would see that he’d changed the task. Once again, the trust between them felt fragile and incomplete, and he had no idea just _how_ to tell Akechi what he’d done. Or admit that he knew what Akechi had done beforehand.

“I’d prefer,” Akechi said tightly, “To be the passive recipient rather than actively involved.”

“That’s also both of them.”

“Not really. As with the previous task, the… _expression of seminal fluid_ is a required component of the exercise.” A reddish tinge has appeared in his cheeks, and he focussed intently on cutting a corner off a piece of toast. “I know _you_ were able to … _perform_ , but has it occurred to me that I might not be able to?”

Ren felt the guilt coursing through him again. He was back to square one, back to mentally chastising himself over unfairly making probably-asexual Akechi endure something akin to torture, all to release himself from having to hurt him.

“Why are you so reluctant for me to… well, return the favour from last night?” Ren asked softly. “Last night you had to… do something sexual to me, this time it should be easier, right? All you have to do is stand there—or sit there—or something—and get off. Shouldn’t that be easier than having a painful and infectious wound on you somewhere?”

Akechi sighed deeply. “The sheer degree of self loathing and disgust I felt at having to do that to you—”

“I’m sorry—” Ren started to say—

“—and yet you going along with it, making it work—I don’t want to put that onto anyone. In some ways, if circumstances were different and if our roles were reversed, this would be _so_ much easier.”

“So you’d not hesitate to cut me?”

There was what felt like a long pause of silence. No words, not even the clink of cutlery on a plate, nothing. No noises from outside or the television.

“No… I said so before. I couldn’t have taken blood from you, even. But the other tasks…” Akechi trailed off.

Ren blinked. Akechi’s voice was quiet and uncertain and uncomfortable; pained but restrained.

“That doesn’t make sense, though,” Ren muttered. “The next task is pretty much putting you in that position.”

“Not really,” Akechi said. Another sigh. “Look, I don’t wish to argue with you about this, but the devil’s in the details here. And I don’t know if I could do that to you any more than you could cut me.”

“Yet you could—” Ren started to say, thinking of the previous task, feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt. “Look,” he said slowly. “I don’t mind. I told you all those months ago at the jazz club about what happened back home… this is _weird_ , sure, but it would be a lot weirder if you were someone else… or were a girl.” He was veering dangerously close to a truth that he hadn’t verballised to anyone, that he certainly didn’t want to bring up _now._

“Remember when I asked before the first task if you had any experience with any of this--?”

“I thought you were referring to the blood collection,” Ren said. “And I kind of didn’t. But I think _every_ guy knows how a hand job works.”

Akechi blushed again, looking a bit scandalised.

“Look,” Ren said, “I’m not some kind of cock-hungry _slut_ or something—” He felt wildly out of his depth and was rambling. “It’s not like I’d just mess around with _any_ dude, but—”

However he put it, it sounded awkward. Akechi looked panicked, no longer meeting his eyes. Somehow everything Ren was saying felt wrong and offensive and stupid: did Akechi think he was hitting on him? _Now_? Under these circumstances?

“I know you’re not into me. I know you’re not into _this_. And I’m sorry if it’s selfish; I can deal with it. I don’t _mind_. Last night’s task actually… wasn’t too bad.” He stared back into Akechi’s unresponsive face. “If we can pick tasks where only _one_ of us gets harmed, that’s still better than picking one where _both_ of us are harmed, right?” He felt like he was pleading, and wasn’t sure if he was making a convincing argument any more.

“If we just do this one,” he said, “I _promise_ you, I won’t mind, and you can close your eyes and try to imagine that I’m someone else. It’s better than _both_ of us feeling uncomfortable and you getting a potentially dangerous injury.”

Akechi’s face had changed into a cold glare now.

“I can just _close my eyes_ and imagine this isn’t happening?” His voice was a deeply sarcastic sneer, but hot and furious. “ _Really_?”

“Well—” Ren sighed. “I didn’t mean it like _that_. Obviously this is a completely fucked up situation…”

Akechi just glared at him silently. And Ren, uncomfortable and unsure what to do, cleared up their plates and returned everything to the collection chamber, terrified about what was going to happen this evening when Akechi realised he’d been duped.

They didn’t speak for the remainder of the day, and they didn’t touch the television. And a strange undercurrent of paranoia surrounded them; neither was happy to leave the other alone in the room. For Ren, he was worried Akechi would get onto the task menu and find out that Ren had changed the task, Akechi, he assumed, was ensuring that Ren didn’t see that he’d already set the task, unaware that it had been changed.

It was a strange sort of cold war. At one point, Akechi very randomly wondered allowed what would happen if they just simply didn’t select a task, and Ren breezily theorised that perhaps they’d just become like those people in Room Number 5, and that maybe they _should_ , and Akechi snapped back that he wasn’t prepared to bend to Ren’s will.

Ren spent most of the day sitting at the small table they used for meals, playing games on his phone and pretending to ignore Akechi. Akechi spent the hours reading on his e-ereader, atop the bed, though he seemed distracted, moving around a lot. Every now and then Ren would catch a glimpse of his bruised arm and mentally scream expletives about how fucked up he was wanting to be injured in an even more permanent and dramatic fashion.

They didn’t speak over lunch (a light miso and salad accompanying grilled fish) or dinner (delicious, succulent tonkatsu), and just waited, suspiciously watching one another after Ren had removed their kitchenware and closed the door to the collection chamber.

Ren waited for Akechi to budge. To just say something about how they should select a task. And he wanted to himself; as time ticked on, he felt progressively worse about what was going to happen, about the shock and betrayal that Akechi was going to feel: they had lied to one another plenty of times before, tricked one another for their own survival, but somehow this—when it should have been the two of them united against this awful system—felt so senselessly brutal and so much worse.

The light came on outside the collection chamber door.

“Oh?” Akechi looked up from his position on the bed. “I guess they assigned a task to us after all?”

That was the point where Ren wanted to crack; but a nasty, spiteful side of him wanted to play dumb and then watch as Akechi realised he’d been outsmarted. It was petty, it was almost cruel, but _shit,_ he deserved it for making a decision like that without saying anything. And then there was the way Akechi was pretending he had no idea what was happening: Somehow Akechi _lying_ pissed him off more than that he’d selected the activity without consulting him.

“I wonder which one they’ve chosen for us,” Ren said innocently, walking towards the door, waiting for the light to switch off.

From where he was sitting on the bed, Akechi craned his neck, leaning over. Gently placing his e-reader down, he watched as Ren stepped into the chamber—

“What the _fuck?_ ”

He rushed out, angrily pushing the trolley, where, sitting on the top shelf, was a page of typed instructions, and a selection of medical equipment in sealed plastic bags.

Akechi smiled a small, nasty little smile.

“Well—it seems that fate has sided with _my_ preferences, hasn’t it?”

It was the breezy, casual, _amused_ way that he said it that got at Ren.

“You selected it…” he snarled. “Without telling me.”

“And that didn’t stop you _changing_ that selection some time last night, did it?” Akechi’s voice was triumphant and bitter. “I didn’t do anything worse than what you did.”

Ren glared at him, incredulous. Frustratingly, he was right, too, though. They’d _both_ changed the task without consulting the other… Akechi had just changed it _back_.

“I fixed it this morning,” he said. “While you were sleeping. I woke up early and had to go to the bathroom. I thought I’d check… I heard you doing something with the controls last night after I’d turned the lights off—”

“So much for you _trusting me_.”

“I suppose the feeling is _more_ than mutual.” There was such controlled hatred in his voice that it was painful. This wasn’t a screaming Akechi throwing a glove at him, or a dangerously wounded and humiliated Akechi demanding not to be pitied; this was cold, vengeful rage.

And as much as Ren didn’t want to admit it, it hurt. It hadn’t felt like they’d gone backwards; they’d crossed a line somewhere into negative territory; past passionate, confused rage and deep concern for one another, past being mildly curious rivals, past being indifferent to one another, into something else far colder and more bitter.

“So what happens now?” Ren hissed.

“You read the instructions and then we do the task. Unless you want to spend another day with me in here.”

It was a taunt and a dare, and it made Ren furious to the point where he wondered if he _could_ just complete the task now, hacking into Akechi angrily, deliberately lacking the care and control he’d exercised when taking the blood, out of sheer rage, and maybe a desire to show him just _why_ he’d been so reluctant to do it.

He hated being pushed to that point and thinking like that. But this had inspired in him a darkness he only vaguely knew existed in his mind; a sense of wanting to _punish_ Akechi for his deception.

“You want me to slice into you _that_ badly?” he snarled. “ _Fine_.”

Akechi just smirked at him.

It was tempting, in that moment, to respond with a punch, and the one thing stopping Ren was that he realised that the researchers would probably _love_ that, and even if he _killed_ Akechi, maybe that wouldn’t really matter to them. But he wasn’t getting pushed into killing him; it felt too much like being manipulated.

He looked over the implements in their clear bags on the top of the trolley and the page of instructions.

A marker that appeared to be for medical use. A small ruler, like you’d find in a stationery set. A scalpel. Disinfectant. A small, cheap-looking digital camera which felt like a relic because everyone just used phones nowadays. Bandages and gauze, and funny looking clear dressing that he hadn’t seen before. A nasty looking clear piece of thin see through material that looked like a slide but had measurement lines etched into it. Ren had no idea what it was until the instructions revealed it was a tool designed to measure the depth of the wound. After making the incision—the language was so benign and technical sounding—the proof of the size of the wound had to be gaged by literally placing the damn thing into the cut, and then photographing it with the camera. And then there were the latex gloves again, and a packet of pills—antibiotics for Akechi to take after the procedure.

The instructions then specified how to clean the wound and re-bandage it, and that the camera and the scalpel and slide needed to be returned to the collection chamber.

Ren sucked in his breath, still furious. It wasn’t _fair_ that he’d been pushed into doing this, and he wasn’t sure he _could._ And what if Akechi couldn’t withstand it, either?

He felt a desperate pang for Dr. Takemi to be within contactable reach. Maybe she could talk Akechi out of it, or at least explain if there was anything he needed to keep in mind or suggest any way of minimising the awfulness of the task.

“So where do I cut you?” Ren asked coldly.

Akechi was staring at the tools on the trolley, no longer smirking, as though the reality of what was about to happen had just sunken in. After what felt like a very long time, he looked up at Ren. “Probably my inner thigh would work best,” he said with a shrug. “There aren’t as many nerves or _things_ you can hit in there, it’s not like I will be straining the region by moving around a lot while we’re in here, and it’s probably easier to bandage afterwards than if you were to cut my torso or neck or something.”

Ren thought about how he’d wondered aloud, arguing with Akechi about what if the tasks escalated to him being asked to slit his throat.

“If you’d said the neck, I’d have…”

“What, strangled me instead?” he asked. He sounded calm, but his voice was a distanced sort of blanched; if a thousand-mile-stare could have a _tone_ , it would have sounded just like _that_. “That’s precisely what they _want_ us to do.”

“Fuck you,” Ren snapped. “You don’t get to lecture me about being controlled to do things against your will.” His voice wobbled with a combination of rage—at Akechi, at this whole situation, at their captors—and a distinct sense of horror at what he was expected to do.

“I suppose that’s fair,” Akechi said. “Let’s just get this over with. Your best bet is probably the inner thigh or the buttocks. But I suppose _that_ would be far more awkward.”

“And when we have to do sex stuff later on, more uncomfortable for you,” Ren snapped. Akechi’s face remained still and pale and horrified, but he seemed to accept that as an answer. As though some part of him had accepted that there would be a point where they’d be accepting the tasks that didn’t involve physically injuring him, but that he also didn’t want to consider what these would be or that far down the track.

Ren looked over the instructions again. Didn’t a cut this big and deep require _stitches_? Or that weird purple medical glue that he’d seen Doctor Takemi use on a little kid who’d bitten through his lip and been rushed into the clinic one afternoon? There was no medical glue, and nothing to create stitches with, and even if there was—he had no idea how you _stitched through living human flesh_. He shuddered. The instructions suggested that once the slide was removed from the wound, the cut needed to have pressure applied and be held together, then cleaned and secured with the funny clear tape, then bandaged.

Fiddling around with Akechi’s inner thigh like that seemed so close to sexual—he’d probably be just wearing underpants and a shirt—it seemed almost redundant to be doing this and not giving him a blowjob.

“Maybe I should put towels on the bed again,” Akechi suggested. So calm and practical and probably still smug, Ren thought angrily. “I suppose this will be just as messy as the last activity.”

Ren glared at him. “I’m going to wash my hands,” he said. Still fuming, still furious with him. He stomped into the bathroom, leaving the door open so he didn’t need to touch the handle on the way out.

And he hoped, as much as he hated himself for doing so, that Akechi was feeling even more apprehensive and terrified as he waited on the bed.

He was lying on the bed when Ren returned, and had made a small pyramid of towels towards the foot of it, next to the trolley. The trolley sat to the left of the bed this time, and he was lying atop a fluffy cover of more white towels, but this time, had moved the pillows away.

It was weird seeing him lying on the bed like that. If this had been under a completely other set of circumstances—if someone had only just caught this one moment in time from their vacation and had to draw a conclusion, seeing Ren step out of the bathroom into the hotel room he was sharing with Akechi, seeing Akechi lying on the bed, desperately trying to relax, his mid-length hair splayed out around his face messily, his long legs ( _There’s "more" fat on there_ —where? Ren wondered in irritation) stretched out and parted, wearing only a shirt and a pair of underpants… this could very well look like something else.

It annoyed Ren that he still looked as attractive as he did. That this could be him posing for a teenage girl magazine centrefold shoot. There was a weirdly serene look on his face even though his voice had suggested he was nervous about the whole thing— _good_ , Ren thought nastily.

“The towels are up there for when you finish,” he said. “If I elevate my leg to above my heart, I’ll bleed less.”

“Shouldn’t you put them under you right now then?” Ren’s heart was thumping. Something sickened him about the fact that he was able to have this conversation so normally.

“That would probably make it harder for you to complete your task.”

Ren just nodded. It was annoying, too, that Akechi still seemed so considerate and thoughtful, even though he’d _not been_ in making them do this.

He pulled on the latex gloves and reached for the disinfectant. It was the same stuff he’d used last time, with its unnatural concentrated jaundice yellow hue and metallic sort of smell. There was an alcohol wipe for the scalpel, but this stuff was different. He’d not seen Takemi use this stuff before and felt like the scent and that colour was burned into his brain from this vacation. If he ever encountered it after escaping here, it would probably send chills through him.

He was supposed to mark out the line he intended to cut, measuring ten centimetres out with the ruler, and then drawing it on with the medical marker. He wondered why he couldn’t just line the scalpel up against the ruler and cut, like he was drawing a line with it, omitting a menacing step in the process—but the instructions had been specific. The last thing he wanted to do was not follow them and fail to receive the points because he’d taken a short cut.

He gulped, uncapping the marker and glancing down at Akechi’s leg. Yet again, his hands were trembling. _If it’s this bad drawing on him, how bad is cutting him going to be?_

Akechi was watching him with apparent interest, the rest of his body slack.

“I’m sorry, Ren,” he said quietly.

“No you’re not.” Ren gritted his teeth and pressed the ruler against his skin. Maybe there was a little more give, a little deeper, than there’d been in his arm when he was taking blood, but Akechi’s suggestion that he had any amount of fat on his thighs was ridiculous. There was no way around it: he was _lithe_ : not sickly-looking thin, not really _slight_ , but wiry and only slightly muscular, like a long distance runner. 

Moving the marker tip over his skin, Ren frowned in concentration. He couldn’t quite stop his fingers from trembling, and the idea of doing this with a scalpel made him feel nauseous. In some ways, it would be easier if he had a larger implement; a sword or a dagger; he could make one swift, brutal flick with his wrist haphazardly and deal with the fallout seconds later. This felt so much more intricate and detailed and so, _so_ much slower.

He opened the container of disinfectant, the cloying, nauseating smell filling everything; in that moment, all he was conscious of was the scent, the _yellow_ of it as it splashed over Akechi’s soft skin, the sickening black line, punctuated with dots of hesitation as the marker was met with slight resistance and Ren’s uneasy fingers, and a dreamy, wash of haze clouding his vision as he opened the scalpel from its plastic bag.

Wiping the blade—dammit, it was so _tiny_ , he was either going to need to _stab_ into Akechi with it or drag it over the wound multiple times to get the depth required—and _then_ he had to insert that hideous measuring slide… and _then_ photograph the whole mess—the haziness increased and he shook his head.

Akechi was saying nothing. He was probably just as nervous as Ren, which felt weird: both of them had been injured plenty of times in the Metaverse and neither of them were unfamiliar with injuries in the real world, either; just something about all the factors here was so chilling and grotesque that—

Ren wasn’t sure if he was relieved or bothered that Akechi was silent. Aside from his breathing anyway; he hear it all too clearly against the lack of other sounds in the room, just as he could feel, through the latex covering his hands the _pulsing_ beneath Akechi’s skin.

Inhaling deeply, trying to ignore the awful haziness dotting through his vision, he pressed the scalpel into his skin, against the line.

A thick, angry drop of blood appeared instantly, shocking them both at the same time; Akechi flinched automatically, as though he were trying to draw his leg up; Ren tried not to jump but flicked the scalpel along the line desperately, hoping to just get this over and done with as quickly as possible.

Maybe it was only a few nanoseconds, but the appearance of the blood—all that blood—had been so immediate, and the uncomfortable heat raging through him, the blur in his vision, Akechi giving a pained yelp and jerking up like that, and the _blood—_ everywhere now, covering his hands, so red and fake looking and smelling of that hideous disinfectant and that coppery, rich _human_ smell—

It got to him. The haziness had turned to queasiness, and he couldn’t entirely recall what happened after that; it was, again, time marked out in nanoseconds that felt excruciatingly long, his own heartbeat racing and thudding, his vision dotty and blotchy, the sound of his own blood pumping through him pounding in the back of his head, overriding everything.

He’d staggered into the bathroom. All there was was _this_ ; the cool tiles on the floor underneath his knees, the gravity holding him down though his head felt weightless, and the stream of vomit cascading across the floor, like his entire body was admitting guilt and not allowing him to go unpunished for what he’d just done.

And then came the realisation that he hadn’t finished the task, that Akechi was still in there, that he had to go back and finish this, that there’d be more blood, probably sinking through those fluffy white towels into the mattress, that even though Akechi had goaded him into this and accepted it, he still didn’t _deserve it_. He choked back a sob that emerged without him realising it, the smell of vomit now competing with the blood and disinfectant. Everything felt wet and awful, and if he’d even considered it, he probably looked like a mess. But he couldn’t just leave Akechi there. He darted back into the bedroom, mentally praying that he’d at least made a cut deep enough to satisfy the task masters.

When he got back into the room, Akechi was busy. There was blood all over _everything,_ and the tray, once full of tidily packaged items, was a mess of scrunched plastic bags and scattered items. Akechi was gripping a bloodied hand to where the wound was, and with the other trying to open the medical tape.

“Ohmygod.” Ren rushed over quickly, as items fell off the bed, the pyramid of towels long gone and scattered.

“It wasn’t deep enough,” Akechi said in bitter, gritted teeth irritation that likely masked pain. “Help me clean this up at least.”   
  
Without really thinking about it, Ren took the medical tape from his hand and reached for the disinfectant. There was blood all over everything, but they could attend to that later; at least Akechi was doing a decent job keeping the wound held together.

“Stop moving,” Ren muttered, “This won’t stick if it’s still bleeding heavily—”

He wiped away what felt like a river of blood, and quickly applied the tape over the wound. It bulged, angry and bloody, like a piece of supermarket meat packaged a bit too tightly under cling film, and it made Ren want to run back into the bathroom and be sick all over again.

Instinctively, on that autodrive which had always served them so well in battle, he started cleaning around the area with the supplied gauze and disinfectant. He wanted to just ask _Are you all right_? but it seemed that Akechi was in a similar state of reactive autodrive. And shock. His eyes were wide and frantic, his skin pallid. How much blood had he lost _now?_ This was dangerous.

Amidst the bloodied towels covering the bed, Ren looked around desperately for a clean spot where Akechi could move to where they could at least bandage his leg, hopefully protecting the wound and stopping the blood flow. He motioned towards a cleaner area of the bed, but Akechi shook his head. “I’ll sort this out in the bathroom,” he said weakly, grabbing a bandage. Why don’t you take care of the mess?”

 _I feel like I should be taking care of_ you.

He nearly said it. Instead, he watched as Akechi made his way to a standing position, bandages in hand, and half limped, half staggered through to the bathroom.

_Maybe he just needs to be alone._

It was so typical of him. To sneak away and lick his wounds in private, to not show any vulnerability around anyone else when he was injured. Ren had seen it figuratively in the past, with his prolonged absences; now, it was literal. He frowned and looked at the bed in front of him. It looked like a scene from a horror film, with blood smears marring the innocently white towels and everything else. There were a few things left on the bed, also smeared with blood—packaging from alcohol wipes, the scalpel— _at least he didn’t take it into the bathroom with him_ —even the shitty little digital camera had smudges of browning red streaks on it, like it had been grabbed at in desperation by Akechi's bloodied hands.

And then Ren saw how Akechi had learned that they had failed the task. The slide, so small and insignificant compared to the volume of bright red elsewhere, sat up near the top of the bed. Covered in blood. As though Akechi, injured and bleeding and probably in pain, had attempted to complete the task himself by jamming the damn thing into the bloody mess on his leg while Ren was puking up his dinner on the bathroom floor and trying not to faint.

 _Fuck_. Now Akechi had stumbled into a vomit-covered bathroom.

Throwing everything onto the trolley, wrenching all the sheets off the bed, and frowning at the spots of blood on the carpet—they could worry about that later—Ren pulled open the chamber door and flung the trolley inside, listening as it rolled with the force into the door leading out of the collection chamber. Fuck them. Fuck this whole shitty experiment and these disgusting tasks.

He grabbed the ball of bedclothes and towels and stuffed it into the laundry hamper angrily, hearing the plastic camera clatter to the floor.

And then he realised, as he tore off his latex gloves and dumped them in the sharps bin—they were a biological hazard, right?—there’d been antibiotics on the trolley. Akechi was going to need those to heal, even though they hadn’t completed the task.

Locating them, and grabbing a new set of towels and bedclothes, the fight had suddenly left him.

He’d screwed up. He’d somehow been reduced to plunging a scalpel into another human being who posed no risk to him. This wasn’t _him_. And it had all been for _nothing_ , anyway. Worse yet, when Akechi was bleeding and sore and a literal mess, he’d completely lost it and been throwing up like a fucking lightweight in the bathroom instead.

A shudder ran through him, and came out as another sob which only got worse. He wasn’t sure why he was crying; he wasn’t _used_ to crying like this, and he crumpled, falling against the wall and sliding down until he was sitting on the floor, the pile of linen and the pills in his arms, head bent to his knees as he sobbed. This was all his fault, and he was too weak to actually deal with it… he’d only ever felt anywhere _near_ this helpless when he was in the interrogation room being beaten by guards back after the casino heist—but at least back then, he’d had an excuse. They hadn’t played fair, they’d hand cuffed him and pumped him full of drugs.

Then again, these assholes weren’t playing fair, either. Neither was Akechi, if he had to be honest, but after seeing him—after _doing that to him_ —he realised he couldn’t be angry with him. Akechi was every bit as much a victim as he was in this, and it was all _their_ fault they were here to begin with.

A dark, brutal irony occurred to him: it was like the universe, fate, the gods, _some_ force bigger than they were, was determined to keep him and Akechi from having any sort of normal relationship. Or, hell, even any sort of reasonable discussion and debrief about everything that had happened between them: this vacation would have been perfect for that, but then… this happened.   
  
The twist in the guts was that he and Akechi seemed to have a shared fate, personalities, some sort of connection, like the pull of a magnetic field—that drew them towards one another regardless of this and of what else was going on in the world. Yet this had probably, finally broken it. Even if Akechi talked to him after this, they were changed now. And what happened if these tasks got worse, what if they couldn’t keep doing them? Were they determined to _starve_ in here?

That thought made him furious, breaking the circuit, and with sore, cried-out eyes, and looked up at the camera above the exit out of the other end of the chamber. So close, but so futilely away. He stared into the evil black lens, an eye watching him from the distance, wondering who the sickos at the other end were. Still holding the linen to his chest from his hunched position, he extended his arm and pointed a deliberate, one-fingered salute towards the camera.

“Fuck. You,” he hissed, his eyes still on it, focused and raging as he contemplated what they were thinking, watching this footage. What was the point of brutalising people like this? Why _them_? He wanted to find them, and kill them. More mercifully than how they were mentally destroying their subjects, but _still_ , they didn’t deserve a change of heart, they deserved no second chances. Even if they admitted their wrong doing, they probably didn’t even have enough humanity left in them to _care_.

He hadn’t noticed the footsteps behind him at first, and looked up.

“You were in here for awhile,” Akechi said behind him, quietly. “I was just wondering—” And he stopped there. Wondering what? Wondering if he went crazy like that man in the video did, wondering if he’d tried to strangle himself with something, wondering if—

“Sorry,” Ren said. It was a weak, meaningless apology. He stood up, looking him over. Somehow, Akechi had managed to bandage around his thigh, and he’d changed into a clean shirt. His hair was wet, suggesting he’d had a quick shower. In his hands were bloodied clothes, which he dumped on top of the too-full laundry hamper.

“Come on, let’s make the bed.”

Ren got up. Somehow, Akechi’s ability to revert to this—coldly efficient and seemingly unaffected, made him feel even more pathetic than he had earlier.

The television pinged on as they made their way back into the main room. Ren hardly cared any more, and there was something so dead in Akechi’s movements and expression as he helped stretch the fitted sheet over the mattress that they didn’t bother looking at the screen even as it flashed with a new message.

Eventually, he turned around to face it, as they pulled the duvet over everything, and Akechi placed the towels in a pile on the floor.

_Good evening_

_Your attempt at the previous task was unsuccessful._

_Your total stands at 23 points._

_Task selection has been updated. Please select the task you wish to undertake for ten points._

The reminder was like rubbing salt in their wounds, and unlike last time, neither of them rushed to look at the designated tasks. _They’ll probably just offer us the same tasks_ , Ren assumed glumly. He looked over at Akechi, who seemed to be deep in thought, or distracted. He wasn’t sure what to say, and then remembered the bathroom.

“I guess I should see if they left cleaning products in the collection chamber,” he suggested. The idea of Akechi sneakily selecting a task for them didn’t even occur to him. “There’s still blood on the floor and you saw the bathroom…”

“I got rid of the worst of it,” Akechi said. “I wasn’t stepping out onto that after a shower.” He didn’t sound accusatory, just detached and logical.

“I am _so_ sorry.”

“Ren—”

“No… I fucked up. I lost my nerve. I…” _left a bathroom full of vomit for you to clean up at the worst possible time_.

“No—” Akechi’s voice was soft and tired but gentle. “This was _my_ fault.”

It was so rare for him to admit to wrongdoing. He wasn’t incapable of it, but he didn’t exactly rush to it, either. Of course, there’d been that time he’d taken the blame for everything on Christmas Eve, when Ren was faced with spending the holiday in juvie, but it wasn’t typical Akechi, who was proud and arrogant and who didn’t like anything like _being wrong_ tainting his perfect image. Even after he’d returned and they’d taken down Maruki, he was far less clean cut, but just as unapologetic.

“I… thought it would be easier for you to do it if you were angry with me.”

Staring at him, Ren sat on the end of the bed, the anger towards Akechi starting to spark alive again. He didn’t know what to say. Somehow Akechi had tried manipulating him, and both of them had gotten hurt, and there’d been absolutely no gains for anyone at the end of the day.

“I told you before, I’m not like you,” he said quietly.

“And I’ve… realised this.” Slowly shifting himself onto the bed, Akechi stretched his legs out in front of him, staring towards the television screen. “I was furious with you for changing the task, but—”

“We can't do anything without discussing it,” Ren said tightly. “If we can’t agree on something, we just go another day here.” He frowned. “That is, assuming that’s even an option. Are we even going to get food tomorrow morning? You need to eat.”

Akechi shrugged. “There are people who’ve been here for a lot longer than we have, who haven’t completed a task daily. That would at least suggest that our captors are feeding us even when we don’t _perform_.”

That was a small relief.

“We can’t do that task again,” Ren said. “I tried and—”

“I _know_. I… didn’t realise you would react like that.”

Ren didn’t know what to say to that. He felt weak and stupid and pathetic, but didn’t _most_ people _not_ want to hack into their friends and stick things in the wound and then take photos?

“I… attempted to measure the wound, at least,” Akechi said. “The cut wasn’t deep enough.”

Ren wasn't going to ask for details. The frantic, bloodied streaks on the towels and items for the task, and Akechi clasping the cut together with bloodied hands told the full story. How he'd managed to switch off enough to just grab the slide and push it into the wound-- and presumably grab the camera afterwards-- was beyond Ren, and he didn't want to consider it. So he resorted to sarcasm.

  
“ _Great_. So in addition to failing the task and hurting you and making a mess of the room, I can’t even wield a scalpel properly. So much for my steady hands or medical future.”

Akechi chuckled dryly. “I suppose it’s fortunate for me because it means I’ll heal more quickly and there won’t be any permanent damage. There was just… a lot of blood. Though it probably looked like a lot more than was dangerous. You only cut about five millimetres at the deepest point. I cleaned it up easily enough.”

 _Only five millimetres_. Ren frowned. What the hell was there to say to _that_? That had been bad enough, even if Akechi was being so casual about it.

“I really didn’t think you would react like that.”

“Obviously.” Ren could feel anger bubbling up inside him, but also a tiredness. He didn’t want to argue any more. It was a strange situation, and so much between them still felt unspoken. And he glanced at Akechi uneasily. “Does it hurt?” he asked.

“It stings a little bit, but nothing I can’t handle.”

“I’m not doing that to you again,” Ren muttered. “I can’t. I made a mess of that attempt, and we didn’t even get the points.”

“I know, and it was my fault. I’ll wear this one. Just like I did with the losing points to the shower.” Akechi didn’t sound _happy_ about admitting it, but like he understood at least. “Should we take a look at the tasks on offer then?”

Ren nodded, and got up to access the tablet. He didn’t care if Akechi claimed that he wasn’t in much pain; the idea of him moving around after all that blood loss in a couple of days made Ren feel like he should rest up. Reaching over and clicking on the tablet, he pulled up the task menu. Surely enough, nothing had changed.

_#1: Subject A must create an incision on Subject B’s body of at least 100mm in length and 8mm depth.  
#2: Subject A must wear the specified apparatus and orally extract semen from Subject B._

Something about the idea of being able to repeatedly do the same thing—and fail at it, only to be offered the option again—was chilling. Were some of these people in the other rooms just marred with scalpel cuts—or worse— because they couldn’t complete some task-- yet kept trying to? Ren didn’t want to think about that.

He let his finger hover over the check box for the second option, and looked at Akechi, expecting, maybe waiting for, a protest. But Akechi just gave him a small resigned nod, and Ren clicked it. Under any other circumstances, maybe this would have felt like a win. But it didn’t. It felt hollow and awful and only slightly less bad than what had just happened.

There was a forboding silence as the screen accepted the selection and then faded out. Akechi rolled over slightly and shifted under the covers. He seemed tired enough for sleep, and since there was nothing else to do, and Ren felt exhausted, he spoke up.

“If I get changed into my pyjamas and turn the lights off, you won’t go changing my selection?” he asked. Was there a hint of distrust in his voice? Maybe. But the fight had left and after he’d uttered those words, was certain he hadn’t needed to.

“No,” said Akechi. “From now on, it has to be a unanimous decision.”

Ren wanted to say “thankyou” but felt like that would be rubbing it in. Instead, he gave a little nod, and got up off the bed, grabbed his pyjamas, and headed for the bathroom.

The still lingering smell of vomit was a reminder that Akechi had at least wiped down the floor and disposed of the mess, and he felt guilty for his previous comment, and guiltier still for not moving to clean the bathroom _now_. But he was tired—they both were tired—and it could be dealt with tomorrow. It wasn’t like they were lacking for time.


	6. Day Four: 23 pts

Ren woke up early. He opened the unnecessary curtains covering the phony window, watching a hazy, greying light appearing through the clouds in the distance. He was unsure what time it was, but assumed that dawn had broken, though cloud cover was interfering.

He was _very_ careful to not disturb Akechi.

It wasn’t like they were sleeping _near_ one another; no, they seemed to manage to remain on their respective sides of the bed easily enough. Ren was only familiar with sleeping in singles; he wasn’t sure about Akechi, but he slept in a tidy, compact sort of way, and very _very_ lightly, as though the slightest change in his environment would wake him up.

He woke as he slept, too: quickly and cleanly and without the normal human haze of ugliness most people had when they arrived in the land of the awake. A lot of the time, he was a person of extremes, black and whites; all or nothing. Maybe he had mellowed recently, but Ren had noticed it: he was either all awake, or all asleep. No in-betweens.

And he didn’t want to wake him up prematurely. He needed his sleep; he was healing and recovering from blood loss, and anyway, Ren wanted to tidy up everything beforehand, undisturbed. Akechi had done more than enough last night to fix things. It was his turn now.

Stepping out of bed, and lightly tugging his side of the bedclothes back into place, he padded across the carpet, his bare feet recoiling when he brushed against a slightly different texture—likely blood sticking in the carpet fibres. He couldn’t see much in the light, and didn’t know what cleaning products were in the collection chamber, or even _if_ there were any in there, but he had to look. He’d start by doing the bathroom, where he could close the door and turn the light on as he worked, leaving Akechi to sleep in peace.

The cleaning products in the collection chamber, in a cupboard at the end, annoyingly close to that door that refused to budge—he tried yet again—included a few basics: household disinfectant, bleach, air freshener, an assortment of sponges and scourers and cloths, a few buckets and a mop, what looked like an industrial carpet cleaning machine, and a simple dustpan and brush. And a small bottle of pinkish red stuff marked “Protein Remover.” It felt ominous seeing something like that here: wasn’t that the sort of thing they used in crime scene clean-ups? Nonetheless, he popped it in a bucket with some cloths, the disinfectant, detergent and the mop, and made his way out, peering at the bed as he quietly shut the door behind him.

He wasn’t worried about Akechi waking up and doing what he had yesterday morning. But he was worried about Akechi. To his relief, it appeared that Akechi was still soundly asleep.

Moving through to the bathroom, he shut the door behind him, and filled the bucket from the showerhead. The vague stench of vomit still lingered in the otherwise pleasant bathroom, and he was determined to remove it: if they had to spend another _however many_ days here, he didn’t want that reminder every time he stepped in here.

Mopping the floor was exactly the kind of soothing, pointlessly distracting task that he needed right now. It was so _normal_ ; he’d gotten _good_ at mopping floors when he was helping out at LeBlanc after he’d first moved to Tokyo; the act of doing so was like an unspoken attempt at smoothing over tension. In a way, the same was true here. There was a kind of peacefulness in being in a room alone, just maintaining it in silence, he thought, and once he’d finished the floor, he decided to scrub down everything else. It took about half an hour, and when he was done, he returned the cleaning equipment to the chamber—Akechi had moved in bed, suggesting he was possibly awake now—and Ren returned to the sparkling bathroom and showered. The light from the “window” had intensified, giving the bedroom more visibility, but none of the warmth or seaside glow you expected from a holiday hotel room window. It felt like being trapped in a permanently overcast state.

When he returned to the bedroom, Akechi was sitting up on the end of the bed. He gave Ren a look of recognition as he appeared from the bathroom with damp hair.

“I was wondering where you were.”

“Morning.” Ren smiled. He didn’t want Akechi to feel uncomfortable, but worried that smiling might look triumphant given the task assigned to them for the evening. Akechi didn’t say anything, but grabbed his clothes, heading through to have a shower himself.

By the time breakfast arrived (today’s was the traditional Japanese breakfast again, but slightly different to last time’s—was there a set menu here or did the people preparing this stuff just do it on a whim?) they were both hungry enough to sit down and begin without any issues.

“I noticed you cleaned the bathroom,” Akechi said. He sounded appreciative.

Ren smiled. “You did most of it last night. I still have the carpet in here to do.”

“I’ll give you a hand with that, if you like.” He sounded much more agreeable this morning, a strange sort of calm in his voice. Ren was tempted to make a comment on the task, something off colour and a bit cheeky—but thought better of it.

“You should rest up,” he said. “You’re still healing. There was a lot of blood.”

“There wasn’t, really,” Akechi said. “It just looked like a lot because it _got everywhere_. I’ve seen more blood in police lockup cells.”

 _Like the time you shot me in the head?_ God, it was tempting to just snap back with that. But the last thing Ren wanted to do was make things any worse.

“It was enough to concern me, though, especially after the fact that I took six hundred mils of your blood a couple of days ago.”

“I should be all right.” The topic of the tasks had been inadvertently referred to. They were like some shadow of an ominous sea creature lurking below the water’s surface, vaguely threatening to disrupt the peace. “Anyway, it’s my blood, I should clean it up.” Akechi frowned. “Technically that’s a biological hazard, actually. They should provide proper PPE for us—”

“Isn’t that only an issue if someone _has something_ , though?” Ren said. He wasn’t thinking. He was chewing on some grilled fish, the sweet, warm taste of the rice still lingering in his mouth, just grateful for once that they weren’t arguing about the tasks or anything else.

Akechi paused, looking slightly startled. “Actually, I suppose that’s a consideration the people here haven’t thought of,” he said. “Which is rather irresponsible of them. I mean, they haven’t supplied any condoms and they’re expecting us to engage in acts where we’re exposed to bodily fluids.”

It was a reasonable observation, actually, and one Ren hadn’t really thought about, either. And suddenly, it clicked.

“Is _that_ why the tasks that involve me make you uncomfortable?” he asked softly. _Shit_. It was the sort of concern Akechi would have very sensibly and reasonably had, but would have been too polite to inquire about. He didn’t know how to adequately reassure him, either. “I… got tested about six months ago with no issues and haven’t really _done_ anything with anyone since then, if it makes you feel any more at ease.”

Akechi frowned. There was a strange lag in the conversation again; maybe just outright discussing the tasks would be easier than this. But a point had been made and—

“It’s about three months for me,” he said quietly, in a resigned sort of way. “No issues for me either, and I haven’t done anything that could expose me to anything since then, either.” He looked down at his plate and began eating again. His expression was frustratingly unreadable once more, and Ren couldn’t help but stare at him, confused.

“Aren’t you— _uninterested_ , anyway?” Ren asked. Shit, that had sounded _wrong_. Here he was, so grateful for the discussion to have moved away from their typical kind of awkward, but he seemed hell bent on pushing it into a new kind of awkward. “I mean—I thought _that_ was why the, er, _X-rated_ tasks were making you so uncomfortable.”

Akechi blinked. He put his chopsticks down and stared at Ren with a still, calm, and yet completely incredulous look on his face.

“Well, I’m not some sort of _cock-hungry slut_ ,” he said waspishly, “But surely I don’t seem _that_ innocent, do I?” he asked.

It felt like every time he confirmed something, it only left Ren with a myriad of other unanswered questions. This one was… not quite an admission, but it was _something_.

“This almost reminds me of the time when we went out to that café with Sumire,” he said, not quite smiling. “You have exactly the same look on your face as you did when you learned that my preference for sweet foods was only part of my branding.”

Ren cringed. He remembered that afternoon too well. _I remember you seeming almost jealous when you saw me talking to Yoshizawa-san and inserting yourself into the conversation and then trying to pit us against one another debating about the Phantom Thieves_ , he thought to himself. At the time, he’d assumed Akechi was jealous of _him_ for having such a pretty, sweet-natured girl with him. Upon later consideration, he kind of thought— _kind of hoped, actually_ —that the jealousy was _towards_ her rather than _because of_ her.

“So the innocent charm of the Detective Prince was all just an act, too?” Ren asked.

“Not really,” Akechi said. He seemed thoroughly amused now, reverting to the Akechi Ren had known at the height of his fame; confident, cocky and charming, as well as quite happy to point out his strategic wins. “If anything, it served me well since a lot of my mainstream appeal was tied to a predominantly young, female fanbase. There were never any scandals about me doing dishonourable things with women. Not having a girlfriend meant that I could remain a fantasy figure for the young women who found me attractive. It was just another aspect of my branding which I used to my advantage.” He frowned slightly. “I thought you were aware of this.”

Ren wanted to laugh. Even now—even after all these issues, all these _shifts_ in his personality, what had felt like his walls coming down a _little_ , he was still remarkably good at not giving away meaningful information about himself.

“You never said anything about that to me,” Ren said. “If I had to take a guess, to be honest, I’d say you pointedly _avoided_ talking about your personal relationships to me.”

“That’s not true.” He didn’t sound hurt or scandalised, but smug, like he’d one-upped Ren by remembering a detail Ren missed. “I told you about my mother. And… well, you all found out about my father, didn’t you?”

“True.” Ren wondered how many other people Akechi talked about his mother with. But he couldn’t ask about that: somehow that felt too intimate and personal.

“So ...you’re not into women?” Ren asked quietly.

Akechi chuckled to himself. “I thought you had deduced that well before now,” he said. “But I guess you’re right, I never explicitly stated that, did I?”

 _No._ Frustratingly no.

“Were you worried I was going to out you?” Ren asked quietly. He looked down at his plate. _Shit_. “I wouldn’t have done that.” That actually stung. He’d told Akechi fairly early on about what had happened to _him_ , and the idea that he’d do the same thing, even in hot-blooded rage, was awful.

“To be honest…” Gone was _some_ of the cocky confidence, and his voice softened. “I was actually worried that if I said anything, it would look like I was hitting on you.”

The world stopped then. Ren noticed in that moment of silence that they’d both stopped eating some time ago, and it was like there was nothing around them in that moment. None of this constricting atmosphere, these awful tasks, worrying about whether or not they’d receive meals down the track, concerns about injuries and blood spills—nothing. Just headspinning, crazed silence, and time that seemed to continue infinitely.

Ren had no idea how to respond to that. Akechi, unsure how to fill in the space, babbled.

“I thought it would only make things worse between you and Sakamoto,” he continued quickly. “It seemed perfectly clear that he was _very_ interested in you.”

Okay, now _that_ was unexpected, and Ren couldn’t help but giggle.

“No!” He wasn’t sure what to make of any of this now. “Ryuji is completely _not_ interested in other guys. He’d be horrified at the idea.”

“Really?” Akechi looked defensive now, narrowing an eyebrow at the suggestion he was wrong. “What makes you say that?”

“He was talking about girls and not having a girlfriend _all the time_. He was a… _bro_. We… didn’t go out on dates—” _Not like_ we _seemed to, and now I’m wondering if those actually_ were _dates._ “He—”

“—was chronically insecure about his sexual orientation and over-compensated by talking about women all the time. Never had a girlfriend. Had a natural affinity towards male-centric environments and the masculine physique—” He sounded _so_ matter of fact about it, like he’d been finding and hanging onto evidence and had given this a fair amount of consideration.

“He is an _athlete_ ,” Ren shot back. “He was working out to get _fit_.”

“He was bleaching his hair and concerned about his appearance—”

“Well _that’s_ not stereotypical at all,” Ren sniffed. “Plenty of straight guys are into that stuff too. And… do you see _me_ dyeing my hair and wearing trendy clothing?”

“Don’t you feel like his degree of loathing towards me was at _least_ partially inspired by something more than just general mistrust and suspicion?”

“—Which was perfectly healthy for him to have given that you set us up and shot me in the head. He’s one of my best friends.”

Akechi paused then, and it was like the spell was broken. _Shit_. Ridiculous as it was, this conversation had been… enjoyable. And distracting. He looked down at his plate, regretful. “You’re right,” he said. “Though didn’t you even _notice_ how protective he was of you?”

“He’s like that with all of us,” Ren said, stifling a laugh. “I think you are reading far too much into it.”

“He acted like he was ready to kill me several times.”

Ren shrugged. “He argued with Morgana a lot, too.”

“That was because they both annoyed one another. And Morgana is effortlessly heterosexual, something Ryuji only deeply wishes he could be.”

“I think you’ve misjudged the situation there,” Ren said. He couldn’t help but smile, though. There was something a bit flattering, and quite funny about Akechi’s deduction. He almost— _almost_ —wanted to have a laugh about it with Ryuji when he got out of this mess.

“Are you saying my detective’s intuition is _wrong_?” Akechi looked scandalised.

Ren laughed. He could feel his cheeks warming slightly. “ _Yes_ ,” he said. “And I think when we get out of this, if you ever say a word of this to Ryuji, he probably _will_ kill you.”

“Unless you were to calm him down.” He was smirking. “He _listens to you_.”

“Stop it.” Ren was laughing. It was a weird, silly sort of discussion, but the first time in this entire vacation, that he’d actually been having _fun_. And he _almost_ felt like maybe Akechi was flirting with him.

“All right then.” Akechi looked at him much more seriously. “So you and Ryuji weren’t—”

“ _No._ ” Still smiling, Ren rolled his eyes. “I still can’t believe you thought that. For someone usually so good at reading people, you were really off the mark.”

Akechi chuckled. “For someone so observant, Ren, you are really terrible at seeing what is quite obviously right in front of you.”

Even though the tension had lifted between them and the mood in the space had improved, there was still an awkwardness—and now even more questions—that existed between them.

In some ways, this morning had cleared the air: in others, it had brought with it more things unspoken, more awkwardness. At least, Ren thought to himself, that entire year of wondering about Akechi hadn’t been unfounded, but wanting to spend time with someone likeminded who understood certain situations—the expectation of being interested in women, judgement from more conservative adults from a different era, the isolation and the having to be careful until you truly knew someone—lest someone who seemed perfectly decent turned out to be a raging homophobe—was, some sort of confirmation. Absolutely none of it meant that Akechi had actually found him attractive, which made the whole situation that faced them now even worse. In a way, it felt crueller than if they had been two completely heterosexual guys: would they walk out of this mess—assuming they did—with their _desires_ warped and twisted into something shameful and awful?

The situation that preceded his arrival in Tokyo left him feeling ashamed and uncomfortable with himself. For a long time afterwards, even an innocent admission to himself that someone was attractive brought back memories of the rumours and whispers from his home town. “ _Pervert_ …”

Did straight guys ever go through this? Probably not, judging by the way Ryuji and Mishima and a lot of his classmates had talked about women. They got to flaunt their sexual orientation without even thinking about it or considering the consequences, provided they weren’t being predatory assholes like Kamoshida—who’d still gotten away with what he had for a long time—or Shido.  
  
He wondered if _that’s_ what this was. Maybe the people who’d been selected for the experiment were _like them_ , and these awful tasks were assigned to make them feel so guilty and disgusted with sex that it made the subjects completely repulsed by sexual desire fullstop. It made a shady, awful kind of sense, especially since the tasks seemed weighted towards the participants choosing the sexual ones where no one risked serious injury or death. Eventually, the participants were going to _have_ to go with the sex options with the rate that the “harm” ones were escalating. Maybe the researchers were some sort of cult looking at aversion responses in same-sex attracted people. 

It made him feel ill. But did the theory check out? The video people—the middle-aged man in the collection chamber, the man struggling the younger man who might have been his own son—were they gay too? It seemed like a stretch, but the idea of an evil homophobic organisation performing illegal experiments on people was just as strange and valid as Shido’s conspiracy, or a darkweb reality TV show or people who had Human Services records being plucked off tourist buses and locked up and made to do depraved things to one another.

They’d cleaned the carpet and returned to their normal state of being; Akechi lying on the bed with his e-reader, Ren at the table, or on the floor, playing mindless games on his phone. It wasn’t enjoyable, but he knew both of them had been through worse. When he’d spent those weeks in juvie, he had no one familiar with him, the surroundings weren’t as nice, and he wasn’t allowed his phone. But the threats of unwanted sex and violence only lingered as a possibility in the distance there; they weren’t a requirement of the experience, and thankfully, Ren had managed to avoid both. And unlike now, his friends on the other side had banded together and bailed him out. Right now, he didn’t even think any of them—other than Ryuji and Ann— even knew he was here. And both of them were busy anyway; it wasn’t like they would be concerned at not hearing from him for a few days.

He wondered if anyone would be missing Akechi, but he didn’t want to mention it. Akechi seemed to disappear frequently, so it was likely the people in his life were used to it. It was also equally likely that he didn’t really _have_ people in his life, and that was a sore point, one which Ren didn’t want to press on especially under these circumstances. A different sort of tension had replaced the paranoia and anger from yesterday, it was calmer and murkier. In some ways, the anger felt easier, now that he thought about it.

By the time dinner, chanpuru stir fry (packed with a variety of what Ren assumed was local produce), had been eaten and cleared away, it was like the tension had come full circle and heavy silence had filled the room again. It didn’t help that the space was a dead zone when it came to sound anyway: other than the sounds _they_ made, there was a chilling, unnatural lack of noise.

Ren had suggested using some of their points to access music, but Akechi had vehemently disagreed. “Imagine,” he’d said, “trying to use music to make the experience more bearable, and then mentally associating that music with this.”

“We could get music we aren’t particularly fond of?” Ren suggested. Initially he’d thought some jazz might be a nice idea, but when Akechi put it like that, he realised that it was a _terrible_ idea.

Akechi had shaken his head again. “Assuming we make it out of here, can you imagine walking into a convenience store or turning on the radio to hear some normally inoffensive pop song, and then being mentally transported back _here_?” he asked. “ _No_.”

It was an astute observation. For someone who could be so emotionally _dense_ sometimes, and who appeared to regard psychology with an air of disdain—or maybe it had just been _one specific psychologist_ —things like trauma and mental associations seemed to be things he actually put some consideration into.

“You’re right,” Ren said. He glanced at the black TV screen, which would be lighting up soon as the light outside the collection chamber switched on, and he thought about his earlier consideration.

“Do you think this whole _thing_ is about making us come to hate sex?” he asked.

He felt like he was treading on shaky ground, and was surprised when Akechi looked thoughtful. “I did wonder about that myself, to be honest,” he said. “Especially since most people have an aversion to harming others or being harmed themselves, so it would follow that the activities they’d choose would be the other ones.” He squinted slightly, frowning. “But that’s assuming a lot. It’s assuming the other participants _exist_ , it’s assuming that none of this is personal, and if those assumptions are correct, it’s assuming that they’ve been assigned the same tasks we have, even though we know some of the rooms contain more than two people.”

“I wondered if this was some kind of homophobic agenda thing,” Ren admitted.

Akechi shook his head. “For _anyone_ to know that about me, then it would _have_ to be personal, or highly speculative,” he said. “And the people on the video: the father and son? I’m still more inclined to believe that if we have anything in common with the other participants, it’s having our information on governmental files somewhere. It still feels so specific though.” He furrowed his brow, annoyed.

“Do you think we’ll ever find out _why_ we’re here?”

“I _hope_ so, though I’m starting to feel like we may not. And if we get through this, we’re both going to have to figure out how to live with that as well as what we have become when we are on the other side.”  
  
It was so typical of Akechi to do this, dispassionately thinking three steps ahead. And when Ren thought about it, it had helped them in the past. But at least he seemed to be open to the idea of _considering_ that they were possibly going to get out. That felt like progress in a small way.  
  


They were both lost in their own thoughts for a moment, until the glow of the light above the collection chamber came on. Akechi stared at it and sighed deeply.

“I’m going to have a shower,” he muttered to himself, walking off to the bathroom.

Ren remained seated on the edge of the bed. This was the first time it had only been one of them opening the door to retrieve the items, the last two times they’d pretty much done it together. For a moment, he wondered if Akechi had been so calm and chatty today because he was softening him up after pulling the same stunt he had yesterday, changing the task when Ren wasn’t looking. Maybe that was an unfair consideration, but…

He could hear water running in the bathroom, so he suspected he really _was_ being unfair. That even if Akechi _really_ didn’t want to do this task, he was logical enough to know what had happened last night and he always seemed to base his decisions on past evidence. Repeating the failed task was stupidly risky on a variety of levels, and Akechi didn’t take risks unless he felt the odds were clearly in his favour. Another way they differed.

He finally stood up, hoping that he was wrong, that Akechi hadn’t changed it, because he wasn’t sure what he would _do_ if he had. There was no way in hell he was going to try cutting into him again, and the instructions had been specific. And it wasn’t like Akechi could take over and do it to himself, either.

When Ren opened the door, the trolley, as well as their laundered and folded clothing, and replacement bed sheets and towels, awaited him. There were considerably less items on the trolley this time, and the slip of paper that specified the task. To his relief, the task was the one they’d selected, and the paper only stated the task again: at least they seemed to be given more creative license with the sex ones rather than the injury ones.

But the apparatus was limited to two items. Initially Ren was confused: he’d expected some sort of humiliatingly ridiculous costume or a sex toy of some sort, but then again, “wear” seemed like an odd way to describe using most sex toys, didn’t it?

He wheeled the trolley out, looking at the items, his sense of horror and confusion and embarrassment growing.

They’d provided a set of handcuffs and what appeared to be, at first glance, some other bondage equipment. The sight of the handcuffs chilled Ren; at least these were clearly _sex toy handcuffs_ , not the spartan, standard silver _police handcuffs_ —these ones were made of thick black leather and had silver metal buckles on them rather than locking mechanisms, but staring at them now was a nasty reminder of the interrogation room.

He often felt like he’d gotten over that incident. Well, he _had_ in a way; he clearly still talked to and cared about Akechi, who had been involved in setting up the whole thing, and it wasn’t like he’d had nightmares about it or freaked out whenever he _saw_ handcuffs or syringes or any of the other things he’d been subjected to in that room, but the _idea_ of being made to wear handcuffs again was confronting. Maybe he wasn’t _quite_ as over the whole episode as much as he thought he was.

Then there was the other _thing_. Initially he’d been confused when he picked it up by one of the two black leather straps attached to the silver ring—Akechi was the one getting the blowjob, why was _he_ meant to wear this thing?—and then it dawned on him, and he felt stupid. Most guys probably would have recognised it off the bat; Ren had never really been involved with any kind of kinky people or done much more than the odd casual hookup or an anonymous sexual encounter; bondage wasn’t really his _thing_ —probably another side effect of the interrogation room. And it wasn’t like he really talked about this stuff with anyone, _or_ watched much porn in that genre, either.

For a daring Phantom Thief, who ran around the Metaverse in a costume that Futaba _had_ called kinky (but she said that about nearly _everyone’s_ Metaverse transformations) his sexual tastes were somewhat chaste and a bit conservative, if anything.

Now he was expected to wear this thing. And the handcuffs. And while this was _still_ a million times better than cutting Akechi, and the literal bloody mess that he’d had to clean up afterwards—not to mention the crippling guilt—this… still wasn’t exactly simple and easy.

The bathroom door creaked behind him, and he turned around to face Akechi. He’d showered and changed, and slunk into the room uncomfortably, wearing a thick white bathrobe from the closet at the other end of the room. That was practical, at least.

Not really knowing what to say—this could have been the start of something seductive under different circumstances— he stared at the trolley and stated the obvious. “This is what they have given us to work with. I'm meant to wear these.”

Akechi peered over, and the look on his face shifted from blank nervousness to a resigned sort of disgust.

“I thought they were going to ask you to dress up. Or wear some sort of chastity device or something,” was all he said. He walked over and picked up the handcuffs, his expression becoming worried. “Are you _sure_ this is going to be all right?”

Ren nodded silently. It _had_ to be all right, because there weren’t any other options, were there?

“This… adds a problematic feature to the request,” Akechi said seriously, picking up the gag and examining it. He continued when Ren didn’t say anything, explaining. “There’s no real way for you to tell me to stop while you’re wearing these things.”

“I won’t tell you to stop. I’ll just keep going until we do this.” Ren wasn’t _happy_ about it, and it felt like a cruel blow after the rather lighthearted chat they’d had early in the morning, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. It was this, or slice into Akechi, and they both knew how that had turned out. But a blooming sense of understanding was growing within him. While he was being made to wear some bondage gear and give Akechi a blow job, Akechi was forced into the position of accepting it, unsure of whether or not Ren was able to consent. He remembered Akechi snapping at him when they were arguing about the tasks what felt like weeks ago. _“So you’d prefer for me to be a rapist…”_

“You might _need_ me to,” Akechi said. “… You haven’t worn one of these before, have you?” Gone was that slightly amused, flirtatious spark of interest that had been there this morning.

“No,” Ren admitted, automatically feeling embarrassed. “I’m… not really into this sort of stuff.”

“I think I can understand the lack of interest in the handcuffs, at least,” Akechi said seriously. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t shocked. As though trying to distract himself, he imagined how Ryuji would have reacted. Most likely with a drawn out “Duuuuuuude… that’s effed _up_ ” and then explosive rage. But Akechi just remained calm and unimpressed, as Ren visibly bristled, embarrassed and uncomfortable.

Akechi sighed softly. “I wasn’t judging, I’m just working out how we can do this in a way that’s…” He bit down on the joint of his index finger. “I am beginning to understand why you reacted the way you did last night.” Placing the gag back down on the trolley, his voice had grown softer and heavier. “I’m really sorry that I did that to you.”

Ren just nodded, a lump in his throat. This was a different kind of feeling awful as last night had been, this wasn’t the horror and rage and guilt as then, there was a distinct air of humiliation at it, not to mention secondhand discomfort on behalf of Akechi, who was glancing around the room as though looking for something. A metaphorical escape?  
  
When he moved over to the TV unit and grabbed the kettle from the small section laid out with teas and coffees, Ren looked confused.

“Right,” Akechi said seriously. “While we’re doing this, you hold onto this.”

Ren just stared at him.

“Your hands have to be cuffed and it’s probably easier if they’re behind your back, but you still have movement of your fingers. If you grab the handle of the kettle, which isn’t too heavy or hard to hold onto, you can let go if you need to stop.”

“That’s—” Ren wasn’t sure if it was a ridiculous level of overthinking, or weirdly specific, or genius.

Akechi just nodded. “If you drop the kettle, I’ll notice immediately and stop. If you’re handcuffed, you can’t really remove anything yourself, and with that thing in your mouth, you can’t say anything, and…”

Ren was stunned. The complexity of his thoughts, his considering the possibilities from his angle, was impressive, as well as—he hoped—kind of touching. But wouldn’t any _normal_ person who wasn’t entirely freaked out consider stuff like this? He wasn’t sure.

“They _should_ have put something in the instructions about this,” Akechi said, glancing down at the paper with its open-ended order. He sounded annoyed. “If you were to vomit while in that state, you could choke and I wouldn’t know.”

 _Jesus_. Just how _much_ had he thought about this? Of course, he was bright, and seemed to store bits of random information about a variety of topics; it was one thing that made him interesting company and good conversation.

“I guess working with the police shows you some grizzly and weird deaths,” he muttered.

Akechi looked momentarily confused, and then just nodded. “Would you prefer to put the _mouthpiece_ on?” he asked nervously. “Obviously you can’t do the handcuffs yourself so I’ll have to do that.” He ran a hand through his hair, his expression starting to show signs of panic and discomfort.

Ren had no idea. He wasn’t even entirely sure how to wear the awful-looking gag. Then a loophole occurred to him. “Hey, they didn’t specify _how_ I was supposed to wear these things,” he said. “What if I just wore this thing around my neck like some sort of punk-looking choker, and put the handcuffs on my ankles?”

Akechi laughed. It was a weird moment of relief for both of them, and he smiled broadly. “That’s—” he was grinning. “I’d be tempted to, to be honest, except for the fact that not following the instructions properly might result in an unsuccessful completion of the task. And then we’d be spending another day without points and in here, and having to do this all over again.”

Ren thought about his apprehension as he drew on Akechi’s skin with the medical marker, wishing he could omit the step and just scale along the ruler with the scalpel. He was right; the task masters were specific and seemed to be willing to punish them for minor infractions like the shower water thing… so it was a reasonable assumption that they’d be unimpressed if a task wasn’t completed to their specifics. But at _least_ Akechi still seemed committed to this task, rather than willing to suggest that they return to the cutting one if they failed. Even though he did _not_ look happy about it.

He just nodded, and waited. What the hell was the protocol here? This wasn’t in any way normal and organic, it was so hideously orchestrated without them having any say in it. But the fact that he _did_ find Akechi attractive, that there’d been that lead up to their situation over the past eighteen months, that it _could_ have led to this naturally, maybe, and then _that_ discussion this morning, made it all the more macabre. It was like listening to a familiar song, played slightly out of time or with the pitch altered enough to make it uncomfortably _wrong_.

And Akechi’s calm about the whole thing: probably a sense of determination and false bravado, was chilling.

“So… how do we do this?” he asked. The logistics of what they were being asked to do suggested that they didn’t have much freedom to move with. Especially if he was holding onto a kettle behind his back. “The bathroom?”

“Maybe,” Akechi said, “But that doesn’t seem very comfortable.” He looked around. “Perhaps if we were to—” he continued glancing around the room—“Maybe if you were to sit on that chair at the table, then it would be easier to hold the kettle and drop it?”

Even if this _had_ been spontaneously romantic to begin with, the planning of it was making it decidedly unsexy. But Ren nodded. He couldn’t think of anything else, and a tiredness had come over him; he just wanted it over.

“Or… the chair isn’t a contentious issue, is it?” Akechi asked quietly.

Ren shook his head, thinking about Akechi’s comment about the association with music and this terrible vacation. “Let’s just do that,” he said. Determined to retain some semblance of control, he picked up the handcuffs and gag, and walked over to the chair. Akechi followed him, grabbing the kettle, and Ren attempted to put on the gag.

He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it, and it was harder to buckle something at the back of your head than he’d assumed. He’d heard guys talking about how hard it was to take girls’ bras off, wondering how they managed to clip them behind themselves, and supposed it was something they got used to. He wasn’t used to anything like this.

“It’s, uh, supposed to go behind your teeth,” Akechi said awkwardly. “The… metal bit.” He looked absolutely mortified as Ren adjusted himself and sat there, his mouth now uncomfortably forced open with a foreign object in it.

Ren wasn’t sure what to make it it. It was uncomfortable and it was humiliating sitting there like this, but the way Akechi’s fingers reached around the back of his head and affixed it felt… _gentle?_ He moved like a tentative, nervous artist, with light touches as though he was terrified of marring a canvas and ruining a work in progress.

“Is that… okay?”

“Llhuh—” The sensation of not really being able to speak, doing something so normal and automatic, suddenly gripped Ren. It felt a bit tight, but there wasn’t really anything he could do about it, and he just wanted it over with. He nodded, buckling one hand cuff around his left hand, shifting his hands behind him, as Akechi moved around behind him and affixed the other one.

“Not too tight?” He sounded so _concerned_. Ren just shook his head, feeling saliva well up in his mouth at the unremovable intrusion. This was… humiliating. At least he felt that he wasn’t alone in feeling like this, and at least, he thought, he wasn’t the one who was having to then… _express seminal fluid_ , as the researchers had put it. He felt Akechi’s hand snake around behind him and pass him the handle of the kettle—so gently and softly that it was like he was ashamed of what he was doing but knew there was no way to back out.

“I’m… sorry,” he said awkwardly. “Hopefully we can just get this over and done with and…”

_And what? And get ordered to do something even more degrading?_

Ren wasn’t going to try speaking again after how that had worked out last time, and his jaw was starting to hurt. The horrible thought— _What if Akechi can’t do this?_ —occurred to him when he considered that maybe if he was in this position, he wouldn’t be able to. And then a sense of shame washed over him; he hadn’t been able to perform his role in the last task, and had so flippantly selected this one, thinking it was easier, yet in many ways, it really wasn’t.

Akechi shifted uncomfortably in front of him, as his hands, white-knuckled, gripped the handle of the kettle. Dropping it would be failure. He couldn’t make Akechi try to do this again any more than he could attempt the previous task. It felt almost like some sort of penalty _for_ failing the last one. This was all his fault.

Akechi looked disgusted with himself as loosened his robe, letting it fall open slightly, moving his left hand down to give himself a few awkward strokes. His face was flushed and uncomfortable, and he turned to the side ever so slightly, trying to not meet Ren’s eyes as he pleasured himself.

His dick seemed to at least respond to the stimulation. Closing his eyes, he shifted towards Ren, then steadied himself with one hand against the back of the chair. His eyes open again, he was staring into the wall space behind Ren, not making eye contact, as he pushed into his mouth.

Overriding the awkwardness and shame was a sense that this was just so _strange_. It wasn’t as though Ren was entirely unfamiliar with blowjobs; he’d given a few and been told he was good—but it was the lack of control he had in this situation. It was that godawful ring forcing his mouth open, the straps pulling against the sides of his mouth, his teeth flush against the metal, and then the sensation of Akechi slipping into him, only half-hard, then stiffening automatically at being encased by the moist warmth of his mouth.

“Try to breathe through your nose,” Akechi said quickly, as though he’d forgotten, “I mean—” It was a weird tone; something aught between concern and panic and desire, like his body was doing something he couldn’t entirely approve of, but he had minimal power to stop it. Ren shifted his tongue slightly; there was no build up to this, none of the typical self-developed rhythm and playfulness and growing want that _usually_ happened, it felt so weirdly _inevitable_.

Akechi moaned slightly at the movement, and then blinked, as though disgusted with himself. Ren, who could only watch, feeling saliva start to leak out the sides of his mouth, hoped he was giving him an encouraging look at least: the sooner Akechi came, the sooner this would be over. Still gripping the kettle—he was _not_ going to drop it and fuck this up—he blinked, nervously hoping that he looked something akin to seductive. He didn’t know where to look. Looking at Akechi’s face felt uncomfortable, looking at his dick even moreso, and then to the left was that cream fabric of the bandage freshly wrapped around his thigh, a reminder of last night’s failure. And with limited range of movement, and lacking the use of his hands, he couldn’t do very much, except literally sit there and take it.

Akechi gently but uncomfortably pulled back before thrusting into him again. Even in _this_ situation, he was trying to be so delicate about his actions, like he was afraid of hurting him. Maybe he was just scared of triggering a gag reflex and making Ren drop the kettle.

Ren moved his head forward, pushing up against him, the edge of his nose tickled by Akechi’s pubic hair, the bandage on his thigh rubbing against his cheek. A slightly louder moan escaped Akechi then, a guilty, self-loathing moan, and Ren felt his cock swell in his mouth some more. He was beginning to understand why Akechi had told him to breathe through his nose now.

He shifted back slightly, as did Akechi, looking concerned, but not entirely withdrawing. They were forced into this awkward dance that neither of them could comfortably take the lead in, even though both knew it was in their best interests to make it work and come out the other side successful. He shifted forwards again, practically leaning into Akechi now, as his hand moved across from the back of the chair, up to his neck, his long fingers gently brushing over his skin, massaging just behind his skull, as though he was desperate to distract him, or apologising through his touch.

Ren couldn’t help but stare at him. He’d never seen him like this before; a combination of what seemed to be vastly conflicting, intense emotions; he’d seen him at some base animalistic level, sure, but that was concentrated rage and humiliation. This was different, and there was a deliberate concentration as he rocked slowly back and forth; the movement of his fingertips was gentle and respectful and tentative, as though he was trying to calm a terrified animal. His fingers moved through his hair, brushing against his scalp, weirdly soothing and pleasant in spite of the tension. He pressed his tongue into the underside of Akechi’s cock, causing him to murmur again, to slightly increase the speed of his movements, moving back and then thrusting back into him much more quickly.

He was getting used to it. His own humiliation had minimised into something else as he focused, and as he watched Akechi’s expression shift; did he look like this, so focused and deliberate, when he was… _normally_ … doing things like this? It was easier to try and distract himself with other thoughts as Akechi increased the pace of his movements—how the hell did Akechi keep his cool about this and seem to know about this stuff anyway? Ren had been so certain that he was asexual up until this morning, and then there’d been _that_ revelation. And the comments about Ryuji which almost sounded _jealous_. Then there’d been the talk about testing—the idea that he’d been sexually active maybe three months ago, aroused curiousity in him. Who’d he been sexually active _with_ , anyway? It almost— _almost_ —made Ren feel a twinge of jealousy himself—here was Akechi who’d not said a _word_ to him about being at all interested, and yet who didn’t seem pleased with him hooking up with anyone else, and all the time _he’d_ been out doing who knew what with _someone_.

He was lost in a void of movement and warmth and thought—he could feel Akechi’s hands in his hair now, much tighter and less gentle, and opened his eyes to see a focused, almost pained expression on his face, beads of sweat appearing around his brow, that copper brown hair still damp and looking like chaos. He wasn’t looking at him; he was focused on the wall behind him, desperate and frantic and—

Somewhere amongst it, Ren had realised that he’d grown hard. He hadn’t meant to; it was probably the distraction of the sensation and his own thoughts, and the mildly familiar actions his body associated with pleasure. He wished he could focus entirely and enjoy this; it was the only way he could really _have_ this with Akechi, even though it was disgusting and underhanded and entirely unfair thinking like this. He just hoped that in Akechi’s focus, he wasn’t noticing the effect he was having on him, or that he’d mentally excuse it—or some—

He clung to the kettle as Akechi moaned much more loudly this time, almost at the peak of climax. And then, time slowed down again, and everything was gone—the pulling on his hair, the pressure and force and exertion, and Akechi had pulled back, and all he was conscious of was the overwhelming smell of semen and the dampness against his face, Akechi gasping and panting in front of him, drained and exhausted and coming to his senses and—

“OhgodRen—” It was guilt, release, and relief all in one sentence barely coherently smushed together. “I’m so sorry, I’m—” Akechi’s hands moved deftly to the back of Ren’s head, unfastening the gag, giving him a moment’s respite to catch his breath.

Akechi had reached over to the bed and grabbed a towel, wiping furiously at Ren’s face.

“I was trying to make sure they knew we’d—”

And Ren came back to reality, gasping, moving his mouth around, trying to work the strain out of his jaw. All he could do was nod silently. He dropped the kettle, and it fell to the floor with a loud clutter.

Akechi pulled his bath robe around him swiftly and moved behind the chair, fumbling with the buckle on one of the handcuffs. When he’d undone it, he watched as Ren stood, fumbling with the other one, undoing it and throwing it on the ground near the discarded towel and the gag.

“Are you all right?” 

Ren merely nodded. He felt disgusting and the haze and gravity of what had just happened was still spinning around his head. Akechi moved towards him as though he wanted to… do something, but he thought better of it and glared, steely-eyed, at one of the cameras before throwing the gag and the handcuffs back onto the trolley, opening the collection chamber door, and hurling the metal contraption in. He shut the door angrily, still looking up at the cameras, defiant and furious.

And then, as though an afterthought, he noticed Ren slinking away. There was a look on his face of utmost guilt, and he opened his mouth to say something, but either the words didn’t come or he thought better of it.

Ren just wanted a shower. He wasn’t sure what to think about any of it, and was still acutely aware of the fact that at least one part of his anatomy hadn’t quite calmed down, and the only thing that would make any of this any worse was Akechi knowing _that_.

He hated himself for leaving him, but moved towards the bathroom, as the light in the collection chamber flashed on, and the television pinged behind him.

He wanted to shower quickly, but paid particular attention to his face and hair, horrified that he would still emerge from the bathroom smelling like sweat and semen, an awful reminder of what they’d been made to do. His jaw still ached a bit and his wrists were stiff from the handcuffs and clutching that kettle for dear life, but overwhelmingly, he was possessed by a sense of confusion about the whole thing, punctuated with blips of rage ( _They had better have given us points for this!_ ) and horror at his own helplessness, and a strange, uncomfortable … _curiosity_ about Akechi that he felt he had absolutely no right to.

The overwhelming guilt that some part of him—once he’d sufficiently dissociated form the discomfort and horror of what he was doing—hadn’t entirely hated it left him feeling terrible as well. And his erection died down when he imagined what he’d be walking back into; poor Akechi cleaning everything up, despising himself for his role in the events, just as he had after their last successful task. He didn’t know if there was an appropriate way to address any of it, and the realisation that their friendship was forever changed and ultimately doomed occurred to him.

He rinsed the conditioner from his hair and stood under the shower spray, rolling his shoulders under the warm water, like he was simulating a hug from a friend that came without consequences. Akechi had picked up the emotional pieces twice now, it was unfair of him to expect any more from him. It was just kind of brutal that they’d started the day with such an upbeat, honest conversation, and everything had turned out like this. He wanted to fall into bed and cry.

  
Instead, he stepped out of the shower and into his pyjamas, balling up his clothes for the collection chamber, mentally swearing to himself that he’d somehow pay back Akechi for his kindness. Even if he couldn’t cut him, maybe he could work out how to? Maybe they could get him drunk and try cutting through the skin on the bottom of his foot or somewhere thick or something? It felt futile and petty. There _had_ to be a way around this.

Making his way through the bedroom, he saw Akechi sitting at the small table they normally ate at. He was holding the tablet from the TV unit in his hands and looking down at it, and he offered a tired smile when he saw Ren moving across the room. Every sliver of evidence of what had happened before had disappeared. The room now smelled of strong coffee, and the kettle was sitting back in its cradle, two cups waiting on the table. Akechi had thrown on a tee shirt under the robe—very unlike him since he hadn’t yet showered—and had tied the cincture around his waist very tightly.

“I thought I’d make us some coffee while I waited,” he said. There was something a bit upbeat in his voice, like he was propelling himself with distraction. “There was bottled water in the refrigerator—”

Ren sat down on the other chair. Was that the same chair he’d just been sitting in? He was kind of glad that he had no idea.

“I wiped everything down,” Akechi said, “And we’ve been advised that we were awarded points—” He pushed the tablet out to Ren. “See?”

Ren looked down and nodded.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. The coffee smelled tantalising.

“I know this isn’t anywhere near as good as proper _café_ coffee, and doesn’t even come close to LeBlanc’s, but—”

Ren smiled softly. “That’s all right,” he said. “And thanks for cleaning up.”

Akechi just nodded. The task had more than made a dint in their relations now, and everything had gone back to being weird again. Ren almost— _almost_ —wished that the aftermath from last time—full of gentle sympathy and reassurances and a distraction that they’d both been able to deal with—being angry with one another, being angry with the researchers, and then cleaning and gradually calming down—was preferable to the stilted awkwardness that followed them around now.

“Have you looked at the next set of tasks?” he asked.

“No. I thought it was better that I waited until you got out of the shower so we could see them together.”

That was almost touching. He clicked through to the task menu until the updated options faced them.

_#1: Subject A must create an incision on Subject B’s body of at least 100mm in length and 8mm depth.  
#2: Subject B must orally extract semen from Subject A while Subject A wears the supplied apparatus._

“Okay,” Ren said slowly, “That’s… almost like what we just did. But in reverse.”

Akechi nodded. “I’m prepared to accept the second task without debate,” he offered. “I suppose it’s only fair after what you were put through.”

Ren nodded slowly. It seemed very tit-for-tat. He watched as Akechi selected the second task and the screen changed to confirm it.

“It’s a bit weird that they’re still wanting _me_ to wear stuff though,” Ren said, frowning again. “I mean last time—”

Maybe _this_ was the task where there’d be a costume involved. And Ren couldn’t help but make a terrible, awful joke. “Maybe I’ll be given a Featherman costume and it’ll be a lot more fun for you,” he suggested brightly.

His attempt at diffusing the tension did nothing, and Akechi frowned. “It actually seems quite mild compared to the task we just completed, sort of a reversal of roles. The previous ones escalated, while this… hasn’t really, from the looks of it.”

Ren agreed. “Perhaps they’re testing us,” he suggested. “Maybe they’re seeing now how each of us reacts, and the supposed escalation is just them testing out how each of us responds to the same thing. Like… if we’d kept following along with the previous tasks, perhaps they would have started asking _you_ to cut _me_ or something.”

Akechi nodded slowly. “That’s dia _bol_ ical,” he muttered. “A lot of people might build up some resentment towards being in the receptive role and then when given the chance to do the same thing—”

“ _Exactly_.” Ren nodded. He was glad that it felt like there was none of that resentment here. At least he hoped there wasn’t any. Akechi had relaxed a little bit now, from the looks of it, and was back to looking calm and unreadable.

There was a strange, almost comfortable quiet between them as Ren sipped his coffee and exhaled. He was tired, and his head was a mess in some ways, but a lot of that had been replaced with a sense of relief.

“How are you feeling, anyway?” Akechi asked. “I’m… sorry I… made such a mess—” It was such an awkward apology.

Ren just shook his head. “We got it done, didn’t we?”

“I can’t say I felt good doing that to you.”

Ren wasn’t sure what to say and his previous attempt at goofy humour hadn’t been well received, so he just sipped his coffee again. “You have nothing to feel bad about,” was all he said quietly. “At least we’re getting through this.”

“Was it preferable to having to cut me, though?” Akechi’s voice shook in an uneasy way that made Ren feel guilty again.

“I didn’t throw up, did I?”

“Well, no, but—”

And it felt like a reminder, then: how the _hell_ did Akechi know all that safety stuff, anyway?

And then it just came out: “Are you into this stuff normally?” Ren asked. Akechi’s face remained still. “Like, when you’re, you know, _not_ forced to do stuff to your rival or whatever the hell I am?”

“No…” Looking into his coffee cup, Akechi looked uncomfortable again; it was that face he made when he was recalling some less-than-stellar past event, the face Ren guiltily had always thought looked cute, like he was a puppy who’d been admonished for something inconsequential.

“You’re not… into masochism stuff, are you?” That was intriguing. He’d never had that impression from Akechi before, but he supposed it made some degree of sense: he’d said he’d have preferred it if their roles were reversed, _and_ he seemed to know how bondage gear worked.

Selfishly—and then feeling _guilty_ for considering it, Ren wondered how he’d cope if Akechi said “yes.” He couldn’t imagine doing that to someone else—least of all, _him_. _Even_ if he wanted it. In a way, it felt like the cutting thing all over again, but then he wondered if it had felt the same for Akechi, too.

“No!” He was starting to turn reddish again. “I’m… not particularly adventurous in that respect, I suppose.”

“Sorry.” Ren felt the sense of humiliation rebounding onto him. “You just seemed… to know what all that stuff was, that’s all.”

“My work’s led me to some interesting situations and research,” was all he offered. “And _no_ , I’m not referring to anything I was doing _on the other side_.”

Ren nodded, understanding their Metaverse euphemism.

“I wonder if anyone has a palace that looks like a BDSM dungeon?” he asked. It was the return of the awkward terrible humour.

But Akechi chuckled. “I’m glad that was never an issue.”

“I can only imagine explaining to some of our friends.” The two that came to mind were Sumire and Yusuke, eternal innocents who would likely have been horrified. A week ago, explaining _that_ to them would have been the most mortifying thing Ren could mentally conjure up. Now things had shifted… a lot.

“I think what would be more concerning would be who would feel right at home there,” Akechi said with a small laugh. Ren chuckled, remembering the time Futaba ranked their Phantom Thief apparel in terms of kinkiness. Ann had been ranked at the top, unsurprisingly. Makoto came in second.

Something had shifted between them again, petering out to almost comfortable. And as he watched Akechi finish his coffee, Ren realised just how _tired_ he was. Akechi noticed him yawn, and moved their cups across the table, to be taken out to the collection chamber in the morning.

“I might go and have a shower now,” he said coolly. “I’m feeling a bit like that, too.”

Ren watched him walk to the bathroom. He seemed to be walking normally, at least, and even though they hadn’t really discussed much of anything, the evening had certainly ended on a better note than the previous one had. At 33 points, they had another seven days—at minimum—left of this, and it appeared that the tasks were, at least, not escalating as rapidly as they could be.

  
He switched the lights off and made his way over to the bed, pulling the covers over him and hoping he was leaving more than enough room for Akechi when he returned.

And he fell into a heavy, exhausted sleep.


	7. Day Five; 33pts

Ren wasn’t sure what to make of this. Last night things had shifted drastically; sure, they were still completing rapidly escalating tasks that they’d been forced to; this was about survival rather than desire, and wouldn’t have happened under ordinary circumstances, he knew, but—

 _But_. There it was.

 _But_. One word, three letters of guilt-stricken hesitation. Everything about this was fucked up, but somewhere in the depths of it, glimmers of silver linings sparkled, and he despised himself for it. Little flashes of things he’d have preferred to have forgotten or ignored—or not liked—played through his mind.

Akechi sitting on the bed next to him, throwing his head back wildly in what seemed to be some kind of triumph after he came— _no_ , Ren admonished himself mentally, that was _relief_ that they’d survived the task, nothing more; the way Akechi had so politely—innocently—cleaned up everything after last night, like he was desperate to make him feel comfortable after the humiliation and awfulness of having that _thing_ in his mouth.

And then there was the conversation yesterday. _That_ had been unfortunately _hopeful_ , and he hated himself for thinking that. _Had_ Akechi ever been attracted to him? It was an egotistic, childish assumption to make. And anyway— and Ren hated himself for the jealousy he felt at the thought—Akechi had been _doing things_ with someone _else_ three months ago. Even if he had been attracted to him at some point, he’d clearly moved on.

And that only left a myriad of questions which he knew were absolutely none of his business, but couldn’t help but want answers to. What type of man did Akechi find enticing enough to jump into bed with under normal circumstances? Ren had his suspicions: probably someone suave and classy, just as focussed and conservative as he was. Probably someone a bit older and more established. Someone he could talk about philosophy and law with, someone who probably didn’t even believe in the Phantom Thieves when they were at their height of popularity. Maybe a police chief’s son or a just-as-closeted celebrity; someone whom he could play pool and drink coffee with, without arousing any suspicion.

And Ren couldn’t help it; he was mildly jealous of this phantom entity his mind had concocted. This person would be all the things he wasn’t: confident, well-off, sophisticated, he probably owned an apartment somewhere and they’d privately think that living above somewhere like LeBlanc was “quaint” but pathetic.

But Akechi had said it was _three months ago_ , too, which most likely suggested that whatever happened was well and truly over. Maybe he’d gone to university or gotten married and settled down. Compared to Ren’s infrequent hook-ups, none of which had meant much or amounted to anything, it would have been serious and _adult_.

He desperately wanted to talk to Ryuji. Not about Akechi’s off-the-mark assumptions about them, but because Ryuji was one of those guys you could _talk to_ about stuff like this. Ryuji was his best friend; they could pretty much discuss anything, and while Ren had never really talked about any of this stuff with him before, Ryuji had—relationships, anyway, and Ryuji was unquestionably supportive. He'd probably be unimpressed that Ren was discussing Akechi like _that_ , but would still be a little bit sympathetic on the relationship woes, at least. At the very least, Ryuji would try to distract him with a night on the town and bottomless bowls of ramen and never-ending rounds of sake.

He shuffled under the sheets as Akechi’s foot bumped into his and he shifted away. He didn’t want him to know; _couldn’t let him know_ , even though the thought of tonight’s activity was… exciting to him in a completely terrible, unfair way. At least Akechi had said that he would have found this all a lot easier if their positions were reversed; next time, they would be. And after the failed task, Akechi didn’t seem up to going behind his back and changing things.

But he wondered if Akechi had just been saying that: it was easier to claim that the inverse of the scenario facing you would be easier when it wasn’t actually an option. Until it actually was.

What happened, though, when the tasks on this tier changed up again and became unfathomable? And _when_ would that actually happen? If Akechi was being this considerate and gentle and respectful—Ren thought about the kettle being used as an indicator to stop—he wouldn’t have even _considered_ that—the idea of Akechi doing a lot more to him really wasn’t that bad, and it was certainly better than harming him. It was awkward and embarrassing, sure, but it wasn’t _terrible_.

But he was worried that Akechi didn’t see it that way, and he had no idea how to assure him—in a way that didn’t come across as predatory or creepy—that it was okay with him.

===========================================

Breakfast this morning was toast and a selection of spreads. It seemed perfectly on-theme for the day given the task; benign, nothing too extreme or extravagant, weirdly normal. But the lengthy gaps of silence lingering between them made things awkward, and Ren was desperate to make some sort of conversation. Akechi hadn’t mentioned _anything_ , and they’d been avoiding checking the progress of the other rooms. Ren wondered if the others were doing the same as them, just trying to soldier on and focus on their own tasks, or if the opposite was true and they were obsessively watching the screens, desperate to prove to themselves that there was a way out by seeing others edge closer to it.

“So,” Akechi said. He didn’t seem _normal_. His voice seemed airy and awkward and hazy, like he was hoping Ren could say something, too. “Are you feeling all right after… _everything_?”

It was so unlike him. Normally he just knew what to say or do, and it made Ren feel a new sense of guilt: lately it had felt like he’d been doing all the heavy lifting. _He’d_ been the one who cleaned up after the failed activity, who’d tried to complete it while Ren was being sick, _he’d_ dealt with being the instigator in the hand job task, he’d _then_ reluctantly agreed to last night’s one even though he quite clearly hadn’t enjoyed himself or being in that position. And now he probably wasn’t looking forward to _this one_ , plus he had a large, useless cut on his leg.

“I’m…” What? _Sorry you have to do this tonight?_

Ren didn’t know how to fix things. The alternative was trying to cut Akechi again. “Apprehensive,” he said finally. “I know you said things would be easier if the positions were reversed but—”

Akechi looked at him, as though puzzled. He’d picked up a triangle of toast—it was an unexpected little quirk, the way he’d diligently buttered his toast, carefully spread some strawberry conserve over it, and then cut it into triangle quarters to eat it—and nibbled on it, nodding. “I have no problems with it,” he said. So casually, so breezily, that it was almost irritating. Just for _once_ it would be nice to see him react like an ordinary human being.

Ren watched him carefully as he sipped his morning coffee. It was terrible compared to what he was used to at LeBlanc, but part of him was glad that it _wasn’t_ good: if it was on par with LeBlanc coffee, he’d possibly return to the real world and no longer be able to enjoy it. This was functional and would get him through the day, but nothing more.

He must have realised that he hadn’t convinced Ren, and continued.

“No, _really_ ,” he said. “I _did_ state earlier that this would be easier if our positions were reversed and it appears that they have been. I have no problem with this.”

Ren wanted to scream. None of it made any sense. And Akechi just picked up his fruit juice and sipped it, those dark eyes following Ren as he spoke. “How are _you_?” he asked. “ _Really_?” He was looking intense and unconvinced, even this early in the morning as he sat at the table, still wearing his pyjamas, so perfectly composed that he looked like he wouldn’t have been out of place in a sleepwear catalogue.

“I don’t have a healing wound on my leg,” was all he said. “How _is_ your leg, anyway?”

“I had a look last night. It seems to be healing. There doesn’t appear to be any infection setting in… _honestly_ , Ren, you _really_ didn’t cut me _that_ deeply.”

Ren didn’t want to argue with him, but he remembered the streaks of blood he’d seen everywhere.

“Are you still taking the antibiotics?”

“Yes.” Akechi glanced down at the box next to his plate. “It’s not going to help either of us if I come down with an infection and can’t do anything.”

 _Or worse_ , Ren thought to himself.

He missed the conversation that had flowed so easily the other day. Where they’d been talking so flippantly in comparison, even though it was awkward; now, this dead weight of aftermath was uncomfortable.

“I feel like it would be wise to discuss safety protocols,” Akechi said seriously. “Last night’s task—”

“Oh, that thing with the kettle?” Ren remembered the feel of it in his hands. It had been such an ad hoc thing, so obscure and specific, but so _smart_. “We should do that in future if they make us—” he stopped abruptly. “But the instructions say that you’re… on the receiving end... this time.”

Akechi nodded. “Yes,” he said. “And the researchers haven’t exactly been forthcoming on the specifics of the exercise, except to state that once again you’re the one wearing the _apparatus_. Obviously given the logistics of the situation last time, you wearing a gag like that seems obtuse.”

“I’m glad they’re not making _you_ wear it at least,” Ren said. “Perhaps they made an error in the wording of the task and it was just meant to be a reverse of what we did last night.”

Akechi’s expression changed slightly then, to something Ren couldn’t quite figure out. “Well, I suppose we’ll find out what they want us to do this evening,” he said calmly, and returned to his breakfast.

After breakfast was cleared away, and they had dressed, along came the vast expanse of time to kill. In some ways, _this_ felt like an arduous challenge; a dull ache that stretched out for hours, compared to the sharp brutal cuts of the assigned activities. It was _all_ awful, but the sitting around doing nothing was mentally draining, and the temptation of having points to spend still remained.

“I have a suggestion,” Akechi said as he placed his e-reader down. Ren looked up from his match-three game and waited.

“I think we should use our left over points to acquire a chess board.”

Ren nodded. This was their fifth day and they only had 33 points so far. And both of them weren’t like this normally; they were active, both mentally and physically. Maybe they couldn’t get gym equipment in here, but they could pace, at least, or stretch. Keeping mentally busy was something else entirely. And it felt like now they had an understanding of where the boundaries were, they were unlikely to lose more points for infractions.

“I think that’s a good idea,” he agreed. “We can set it up on the table we use for breakfast, and—”

Akechi smiled. “I am _so_ glad you can play.”

“I can play shogi, too,” Ren offered. Akechi nodded. “If you’d prefer shogi then—"

“I only really play with one person, and to be honest, I don’t really want to go associating shogi with this place,” he said. “Anyway, I’m better at chess.”

The competitive streak in Akechi had been ignited. “We’ll see about that.” He grinned.

“Hey, let’s make them give us a billiard table in here.” It was a cheeky, stupid, and entirely not-serious suggestion.

Akechi laughed. Something about the idea of the researchers attempting to cram an entire billiard table, as well as all the accoutrements, into the collection chamber, was absurdly funny.

“We could do some of the more embarrassing tasks _under_ the table so the cameras couldn’t see us,” Ren continued.

“Which is probably why they wouldn’t give us one.”

“I’m just thinking no one wants to lug four hundred kilos of marble into the collection chamber, personally.”

Akechi looked thoughtful. “I feel somewhat used to the presence of the cameras,” he mused. “Maybe it’s my familiarity with them anyway, but they’re not the thing that bothers me most of all about this.”

Ren nodded, understanding, but not agreeing. It made perfect sense; Akechi was used to living a life being a publicly consumed entity, cameras were just a part of that. Nonethless, in this sense, the cameras were filming them both in moments that should have been _private_ and natural, not artificially enforced and seen by anyone else.

“I hate them,” Ren said. “At least back in the real world you got some ownership of what was being filmed. No one was filming you doing stuff like this.”

“I suppose.” He shifted the subject. “I was actually about to ask you if you wanted to take the ten points for releasing our feed to the other participants,” he said. “It might not be that great a risk if none of the others do, and it would take a day off these tasks and make up for the day we lost when—”

“When I fucked up and couldn’t cut you.”

Akechi said nothing.

Ren looked at him carefully, expecting some sort of acknowledgement, or a sneer, or _something,_ but then he spoke quietly.

“The other night you said something that made me realise something,” he said. “That the rate the physical activities were escalating meant that the sex ones would become unavoidable.”

Ren just nodded. He hadn’t really thought about it at the time.

“Has it occurred to you that we might reach a point with them where reverting to the cutting activity is probably going to become unavoidable, too?”

Ren _hadn’t_ wanted to think about that too much, but nodded. It seemed that the task masters were happy to leave the unselected task on standby, lying in wait for as long as the participants were prepared to do the escalating tasks. He’d wondered where the sex ones would end up, and at what point he might agree that cutting Akechi was preferable to having some sort of sex act performed on him.

He nodded dumbly. “I guess you’re right,” he said after awhile. “But… I’m okay with us doing the ones where you just— _do things_ rather than me.”

“I know you are.” Something flickered through his eyes then, a slightly panicked, bothered look Ren couldn’t place especially when it only lasted a second. “But that’s not actually fair to you, in some ways it’s not fair to me, _either_ , and it has just as much potential to get dangerous as the physically harmful actions.”

Ren looked puzzled, and Akechi continued carefully.

“Last night’s came with risks that the researchers should have considered and included protocol for. And now that we’re aware that they’re including, well, fetish things in with the sex ones—” He looked slightly embarrassed, but determined to explain. “Just like you were worrying about having to slit my throat, what happens when I’m being asked to do specific things to _you_?”

Ren could feel heat swelling in his cheeks. He wasn’t particularly into bondage, and less so after the experiences he’d had with being restrained and handcuffed in day to day life, but there were probably _other_ kinky things that would horrify conservative, clean cut Akechi… that _he_ wouldn’t be especially bothered by. Risk and danger could be exciting—if they weren’t, on some level, he wouldn’t have loved his metaverse adventures as much as he had. And then there was the glorious comedown, the flood of relief when they’d gotten out in one piece, the blissful rush of calm that threatened to drown him, the warmth that spread through you when you realised you’d survived, and were _alive_ , and had pulled off a monumental feat in addiction to surviving. It was like a completely non-sexy orgasm, that feeling. It felt a bit pervy to admit that he could probably get accustomed to it in a sexual manner if he had to.

“It depends on what they are, I guess,” he said. “I mean… last night’s was a bit confronting because of the handcuffs and—”

Akechi nodded. “When I suggested the chair to you, I realised: they did that to you in the interrogation room. That was why I was a bit apprehensive. I would have preferred to have done things sitting on the bed, but—”

“I couldn’t have easily dropped the kettle?”

He nodded.

“What made you think of that, anyway?” Ren asked. “That was…” His voice lowered slightly, awkwardly. “Really decent of you.” And then perked up again. “But also really _out there_. I mean, how do you come up with this stuff?”

“I think ahead,” Akechi said. “And you needed to be able to indicate some sort of no given the risks of asphyxiation on vomit or… you not being familiar with that sort of thing.”

“I’ve given head before and not thrown up.” Somehow, this was both excruciatingly embarrassing, yet still not the most awkward the conversation had occurred between them.

“Probably not with one of those in your mouth.” Akechi cleared his throat, his attention seemingly focussed on something in the distance. “And judging from the way you were looking at the gag, I figured you weren’t familiar with it ...or the safety risks.”

“I thought you weren’t into this stuff,” Ren said.

“I’m not.” He shrugged. “But I made a good call then, didn’t I?”

“Yes.” And then, quietly, “Thank you.”

Akechi shrugged again. “You shouldn’t be thanking me for not wanting you to _die_.”

“You haven’t _always_ felt like that about me.” What had sounded like a flirtation in his mind had come out sounding a whole lot more bitter.

“Maybe we should focus on what we’re feeling towards one another _now_ rather than whatever we were feeling towards one another in the past,” Akechi said sternly, unimpressed. “I don’t think we are going back to any of that, and it doesn’t matter any more.”

“Right.” God, how had awkwardness turned into something so effortlessly melancholy? “We just need to look ahead to get through this.”

When the trolley arrived in the collection chamber after dinner, Ren felt a surge of… something… race through him. A cocktail of emotions: the usual resigned apprehension at the task itself, vague curiousity, because if not anything else, the arrival of _anything_ in the collection chamber was an Event, and there weren’t many of those to break up the monotony of being locked inside like this, and… this time, a sort of giddy excitement chased down with a sense of disgust with himself.

These activities were turning him into a wretch. It was unfortunate that Akechi had been fantasy fuel for a long time and now this had happened: if this had been any of the other guys he knew—Ryuji, Yusuke, Mishima—hell, even someone like Iwai or Toranosuke—it would be uncomfortable and disgusting and wrong, but there wouldn’t be this lingering sense of desire that he couldn’t get rid of, wrong as he knew it was.

Worse yet, that conversation earlier in the afternoon suggested more than anything that if Akechi actually had harboured feelings for him back then, they were long gone now; so Ren was effectively reducing him to an object, indifferent to his feelings on the matter. Maybe that came with the benefit of him being able to “express semen” or however the researchers would describe it, but he still felt terrible. He was projecting onto Akechi unfairly, taking advantage of his vulnerability, just as Shido had with that woman that night, just as Kamoshida had with the female Shujin student population. The idea that he got to derive pleasure—amongst the awkwardness of it all—from these acts—and Akechi didn’t—was brutally unfair.

But some part of him twitched at the thought that Akechi would be in the same place he was last night. It didn’t help that Akechi was so considerate about it all too; he hadn’t ever really been with anyone who was that concerned about his welfare—it was touching and it made him feel even worse.

He just had to make sure Akechi was put at as much ease as possible, and he considered what he’d done last night; he’d taken a shower, which was _perfectly_ understandable, appearing in one of those bath robes from the closet built into the back wall. He’d been slow and gentle and careful, despite the fact that task was designed to muffle any consent—or lack thereof—from him. Akechi could have been brutal with him if he’d wanted, not caring about if they needed to stop, pulling his hair and fucking his throat quickly just to get it all over with.

And he hadn’t. He quite _pointedly_ hadn’t. And even though he’d come all over his face—was that better than forcing him to swallow?—he’d hurriedly cleaned everything up, allowing Ren to shower afterwards, and had made him coffee. That wasn’t just good etiquette, that was… _really fucking considerate._ It was like he’d felt guilty and awful about the entire thing; a sobering thought Ren had hoped to burn into his mind now that he was on the receiving end of things.

He nervously rushed off to the shower as the light switched on, indicating that something was going on in the chamber, feeling foolish when he got there because he hadn’t even seen what he was supposed to wear when he emerged. It probably would have been smarter to wait, to take whatever the items were through to the bathroom with him, and to come out dressed and ready to go, minimising Akechi’s involvement and discomfort. But he wanted to get this over and done with, so he stepped into the shower, scrubbing himself furiously, and blasting the cold water from the handheld nozzle over his crotch to quell his treacherous dick which was already doing things in anticipation.

When he stepped out, the thick heavy folds of the towelling bath robe making him feel a bit less self-conscious, he saw Akechi standing over the trolley, frowning. He looked up when he saw Ren, and indicated a box on the table. “They gave us the chess set at least—" he said weakly.

Ren just nodded, and moved to the trolley. It appeared that Akechi had been staring at the slip of paper.

“It also seems that my criticisms about them not specifying much have been taken on board." He frowned.

Ren looked at the paper. Last night he’d pointed out that there was no information on just _how_ he was supposed to “wear” the handcuffs or the gag. This time, an assortment of different items faced him, and the instructions on the sheet were detailed and explicit, leaving absolutely no room for creative interpretation.

And then there were the items themselves. At least, unlike the gag, these ones looked obvious enough, even though the humiliation aspect of the task had only gotten worse.

“I… should have suspected they would have done something like this after last night,” Akechi muttered. “I’m sorry, Ren.”

Ren shook his head, inhaling deeply. This was going to be… acutely awkward, he supposed, but it was _still_ better than cutting Akechi. He thought about their earlier discussion: where ever the point was where cutting him would be the lesser of two bad options, that still seemed to be in the future. But it was Akechi, looking pale and worried, was what bothered him.

“Are… you okay with this?” he asked gently.

“I suppose I don’t have to do anything except… _use these on you_ and then _extract seminal fluid._ ” He sounded incredulous and horrified, though, but guilty, like he really had no reason to be complaining about it. “At least they’ve provided a blind fold this time, so neither of us have to look at one another. I suppose that takes a little bit of the difficulty out of the task.”

“Who has to wear the blindfold?” Ren was smiling grimly, looking at some of the other items on the trolley next to the instructions.

“You do,” Akechi muttered. He watched as Ren’s eyes moved over the individual items on the trolley. “You have to wear all of these.” He paused, his voice full of regret. “I know we thought this one would be easier since the positions were reversed, but—” he cut himself off. “Are _you_ sure this is all right?”

Ren sucked his breath in, looking over the items again. “Yes.” He glanced at the sheet of instructions. He wasn’t expecting _this,_ and in hindsight, was pleased he hadn’t assumed that he could just get prepared in the bathroom any more: the instructions specified the _order_ the items were to be put on, and since the handcuffs went first—

“Are _you_ sure this is all right?” he asked quietly.

Akechi nodded silently. “I suppose we can just do this on the bed.” He dragged the trolley over next to him, and watched as Ren, desperate to maintain some composure and appear relaxed, climbed atop the mattress.

“It… might be easier if you remove the bath robe, though.”

Ren nodded. He’d been expecting to hear that, and wasn’t in the mood to argue. This was just another level up from what the task had been last night, right? He gingerly untied the cord at his waist, and then tugged at the thick towelling, leaving it pooled next to the pillows. Now, he felt strangely vulnerable, and noticed a chill in the night air that felt unfamiliar. Coiling himself around in some sort of modesty—this was _awkward_ —he watched as Akechi grabbed the handcuffs off the tray, and shifted around behind him, affixing them gently to his wrists.

“I guess I shouldn’t have joked about finding alternative ways of wearing the items,” he said, desperate to keep his voice even and upbeat. “I can’t really blame anyone except myself, can I?”

Akechi didn’t say anything. Did he agree? Maybe not. His expression had gone back to being focussed and otherwise unreadable; a steely determination he was affecting to pull himself through. He reached over to the trolley and grabbed the next item on the list; two small black clips. “I’m so sorry, Ren,” he said quietly.

“It’s not your fault.” The handcuffs behind him felt snug but not uncomfortable, but other then the blindfold, the last item on the list, Ren felt like this whole preparation was being specified and played out entirely as punishment. Of course, Akechi could think it was for his earlier comment about alternative uses for the items. But for Ren, it was the buzz-killing punishment for how he’d been anticipating tonight’s task. That hint of sleazy interest? At least it would be dampened by how awkward and painful this was going to be.

He watched as Akechi squeezed on one of the nipple clamps, testing the force of the spring within, frowning, before looking down at Ren’s bare chest. “I’m… going to have to try and—give this something to grip to,” he said uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, Ren.” He sounded so deeply ashamed and awful that the guilt in the pit of Ren’s stomach only intensified. Yet somehow, he felt this was still far better and easier than if he was stuck _cutting_ Akechi again, or trying to. He wondered if he’d be feeling this by the end of the task. That was assuming one of both of them didn’t lose their nerve.

Akechi did something unexpected then. Ren had assumed he was just going to pinch him and clamp the bit of plastic over his nipple, then move onto the other one, but instead, he leaned forward, his lips centimetres from his skin, his breath soft and warm—and nervous, Ren thought—and blew gently against his right nipple. Again, surprisingly tender, and followed by gently pinching fingertips, which felt kind of good and then—

“Ahhh—” He bit back a yelp, which caused Akechi to jump back, his fingers shifting towards the clamp, as though his instinct was to remove it— “Don’t—just—do the other one- I'll get used to it—”

The initial pain stung angrily before petering out into a dull sort of sensation, as Akechi looked at him with concern. “If you need to stop, just say so,” he said uneasily. “We can call it a night and do the other task—”

“No—we—can’t—” Ren bit through the pain as Akechi’s breath and fingers were on his left nipple—“just keep going—”

He nodded, as though unsure, affixing the second clip. Knowing what to expect meant it wasn’t quite as painful, but it still wasn’t what Ren would have thought of as pleasant in any manner—but they had to get through this and there was still—

Akechi was holding it awkwardly now, and from his position, half-lying on his side, half curled around, Ren watched him, trying to move to a more comfortable position to accommodate his cuffed hands. Akechi had seen him naked before, but this was entirely different and came with a new vulnerability.

“Are you _sure_ about this?”

“ _Yes_.” Looking at the vibrator in his hand, Ren was no longer entirely sure about this. Could he do the same thing to Akechi? He wasn’t sure. And this was skirting on the border of a point where cutting him _might_ be easier than seeing the concern on his face.

“Okay...."

Ren could hear him sigh audibly as he shifted over across the bed, the vibrator in one hand, the mercifully provided bottle of lube in the other.

“Is this… an easy position for you to do this?” he asked.

Akechi made a little “mmm” sort of noise, like he wasn’t sure how to answer, and Ren wondered if perhaps it wasn’t preferable, but Akechi wished to cause him no further inconvenience. It was more than likely that _he_ just wanted to get this over and done with, too. From behind him, Ren heard him fumbling with the cap on the bottle of lubricant, and then the lewd squirt of the liquid exiting the bottle. Something in him tensed. It was again, one of those situations where this was so, _so_ close to the fantasy but the lack of spontaneity and any genuine interest warped it into something else.

“Ren,” Akechi said quietly, leaning against him, “I’m… sorry… this is going to be a bit—” For once, it was like he genuinely had absolutely no idea what to say.

Ren just nodded. “It’s okay,” he said, his voice soft and serious, “The minute I saw it, I suspected that—”

He didn’t know what to say either. He felt naïve and stupid for _not_ assuming this was coming, that if the previous task had involved kinky props, the next one along probably would too.

He felt Akechi’s fingertips slide against him gently and smoothly gliding between the crevice of his ass, as though he was willing him to relax. It was working; the tension in his body _was_ vanishing, but with it, he realised he had another problem and a source of humiliation—proof that it probably _did_ have a mind of its own after all, his cock stirred at the sensation. _Shit._ And Akechi was going to realise, and…

“Ren—” His voice was warm and breathy against his ear, which wasn’t helping matters at all. “Relax... I realise it’s a bit difficult under these circumstances—”

He felt himself melting as his touch and that pressure increased just enough for the tip of a finger to slip into him. _Fuck_. Ren wasn’t sure what it was; the combination of that voice and breath against his ear, the way Akechi was just being so damned gentle and soft and _good at this_ or if it was partially all this and the fact that scenarios like this—only missing the forced setting and not _quite_ as soft and gentle—involving Akechi— were regular fantasy screenings for him.

And he gasped slightly, biting into his bottom lip to stifle a moan that would only make this all the more humiliating, as Akechi pushed into him a bit deeper, running more lube against his entrance in preparation for what was coming next.

“Are you still okay with this, Ren?” he asked. His voice was full of complete concern, but also, still hot and husky against his ear, driving his cock to harden some more. Ren yelped out a pitiful whine of a “ _Yessss_ ” which caused Akechi to push a little bit deeper and then remove his finger, only to replace it with the softer, warmer, and thankfully lube-coated vibrator.

Absentmindedly, Ren felt eternally grateful that this _wasn’t_ Ryuji in Akechi’s position, because Ren could all too easily imagine him trying to get this over and done with as haphazardly as possible, which would have been maybe a lot quicker and in some ways less awkward, but in every other way, a lot harder and more painful.

He whined softly, twisting around to try and adjust to the intrusion. It wasn’t _big_ , but it was unfamiliar, and despite his intentions to relax—and Akechi softly mumbling against his ear that he needed to as the silicone pushed into him, he was tense. It wasn’t the item itself that was causing him tension, it was the entire scenario, it was Akechi seeing him like this; vulnerable and helpless, and uncomfortably aroused.

“You’re doing so well.” It wasn’t just gentle, concerned encouragement, Akechi’s voice was smooth and low and warm against Ren’s ear, and a shudder ran through him as he felt the vibrator settle in place, snuggly, Akechi’s hands shifting away. “We’re nearly there,” he murmured. “Just the blindfold and then—”

Ren could feel him move behind him, and tried to still his surprise as a gentle nudge from Akechi behind him indicated something he hadn’t expected, that simultaneously opened a whole new volume of questions: Akechi was hard, too.

Was that—? He watched as Akechi shifted around in front of him to retrieve the blindfold from the trolley, desperately trying to _not_ glance in the direction of his crotch, but unable to shift his gaze. He _was_. The way the fabric of his pants seemed tighter, with enough tension to suggest that things were _different_ —was a strange combination of embarrassing and wildly exciting.

And then, as though caught looking, despite Akechi saying nothing, he looked up to see the blindfold in his hands, gently placed over his eyes. He’d only glimpsed his friend’s arousal for a couple of seconds, but it was enough to make his heart race and his cock stiffen even more.

There was probably a logical solution for it. Akechi’s body was reacting involuntarily to some degree, like his was, maybe it was being touch starved and desperate for a few months. Perhaps Akechi was thinking about something else, or some _one_ else or—

It was embarrassing how hard he was already. And it only worsened when he felt Akechi lean in towards him, his fingers nervously gripping around the vibrator as he pressed the central button and a throbbing, whirring pulse stirred through him. Then he pulled away—not being able to see anything through the blindfold, Ren wondered what his expression was. Apprehensive? That same stony cool detached that he’d been when he’d been talking about the task earlier? He had no idea.

He felt the weight shift on the mattress again, and heard Akechi’s husky, hitched voice. “If you need to stop, just say so,” he said. Not as smoothly as before; like there was a hint of regret or difficulty saying it. And then there felt like a huge gap of silence where Ren couldn’t hear anything except the soft buzz of the vibrator, sending ripples of sensation through him, frustratingly close and—

“I’m… all… right…” he gasped out, leaning back. He was helpless. And they were so close to completing the task. He considered for a moment that Akechi could opt out any time he wanted to, that he could walk off and freak out and lose his nerve and decide that _he_ couldn’t continue, that he might run off into the bathroom in horror and disgust at what he was doing to fall on the floor and throw up. But then he felt warm tingling breath against his dick, and the tip of a moist tongue licking softly over the head, and he moaned quietly as Akechi engulfed him with his mouth.

God. He shouldn’t be enjoying this but— _shit_ —

He whined, pushing back slightly as Akechi’s mouth encased him, rocking back slowly and then pushing down again, covering him in heat and softness and saliva, pulling back again and then thrusting down. He wished he could watch, selfishly; this was probably excruciatingly humiliating for Akechi, normally so dignified and well-composed, leaning down into him like this, his lips tightening around the base of his shaft— _god—_ he exhaled sharply, trying to not thrust up into that warm, delicious mouth, as he felt a hand underneath him, gently fondling his balls. It was so _like_ Akechi to try and do things perfectly, but this was not what he expected. He assumed it would be awkward and sloppy and embarrassing—maybe the blindfold was helping them both in not having to see one another’s expressions—but—

He stifled another moan as Akechi increased his pace, feeling precome leaking into that warmth, struggling against the cuffs, wishing his hands were free so at the very least he could run his hands though that soft brown hair as a distraction. He was reduced to a twitching, quivering mess of sensation, with the guilt and horror at how much he was enjoying this, an echo somewhere in the back of his mind. Akechi, frustratingly, slowed his movement, like he was drawing it out, his tongue pressing against the underside of his cock, like it was mapping out and focussing on every minute detail, trying to arouse every single nerve. He squirmed uncomfortably; desperate to peek through the blindfold and get _some_ idea of how Akechi seemed to be feeling; having no idea, his mind superimposed an image of him, concentrated and focused on his task, as strands of hair brushed against his naked, sticky thighs.

There was a distinct _slurp_ as Akechi pulled back, the hint of cool air hitting his dick, and then the addition of warmth as a slippery, lubricated hand gripped him firmly at the very base of his cock, and then he was sliding back into the warm, moist tightness of that mouth.

He moaned again, a lost and guttural noise that he didn’t quite recognise in himself; his own reactions only adding to his sense of humiliation, as Akechi’s hand smoothly spiralled around him, his tongue embracing him tantalisingly. He arched his back up in desperation, leaning back into his hands, shaking, another animalistic noise wracking him.

It made sense for Akechi to be good at this; Akechi was annoyingly good at just about everything he took a hand—or his mouth—Ren whimpered again, and shuffled forward, a vibration of something that might have been a chuckle reverberating against his straining dick—to, but… _shit_. This was brutally unfair and unexpected. Even though he’d lost his vision, the rest of his senses were overloaded with pleasure, and Akechi was—

He pulled back, then slammed down, his throat tight, his tongue pressing against him insistently, and Ren felt his mind fade out somewhere in that instant as his body gave way with one final spasm of tension—and then release— and a _scream_ blasted out of him, overwhelmed and messy and violent, his body shuddering, overloaded, as he came.

Then there was nothing; nothing but his own beating heart and the gasps racing from him, the mild discomfort of the vibrator still buzzing inside him, the weight on the mattress shifting again as he assumed Akechi was adjusting himself, and one sticky hand touching his fingers and then shifting to his wrists as one of the handcuffs was loosened.

He swiped away the blindfold, sitting up, looking down at himself; spent and messy, his skin flushed crimson, a slight twitch of _something_ radiating through his dick as Akechi, awkward now, and not looking at him, his face wet with sweat and semen and saliva, reached down to gently remove the vibrator. They were both gasping audibly, and a veil of embarrassment had been thrown over them. Still wearing one of the handcuffs, Ren drew himself up, gently removing the nipple clamps, tossing them on the bed, his knees bent to his chest, his arms huddled up against him. He felt very, _very_ exposed now.

Akechi merely nodded, and strode through to the bathroom. He didn’t seem angry, more… needing to get out of the room. Ren felt conflicted and remained where he was sitting. He supposed, as he heard the sound of running water from the hand basin, that he really should tidy up and strip the bed at least. Stretching—his wrists hurt a bit now and his legs felt stiff while the rest of him felt like _jelly_ —he got to a standing position, grabbed the bathrobe, and tightly wrapped himself in it, tying the cord snuggly around him. He collected up the items—the blindfold, the nipple clamps, the bottle of lube that had fallen onto the floor—and the—he felt weird touching it now—vibrator. He gingerly placed them on the trolley next to the printed instructions, and wheeled everything into the collection chamber, leaving the door open so he could throw in the bedclothes he was about to add to the laundry bin.

He didn’t know what to think.

Then he remembered—Akechi had made them coffee last night, hadn’t he? There was bottled water in the bar fridge—he opened the camouflaged panel door and found some, filling the kettle and switching it on, before realising that he was still wearing the handcuffs. Undoing the second buckle, he dashed inside the collection chamber and left them on top of the trolley with the other implements, moving out and closing the door behind him as he shifted towards the bed. He was back on autodrive, throwing himself into tidying up, hoping that Akechi would at least feel somewhat distracted and a bit more at ease when he stepped out of the bathroom.

When he did, Ren was adjusting the duvet, remaking the bed and waiting for the kettle to boil. Akechi padded through, seemed to note what was happening, and nodded to Ren. “Bathroom’s free,” he said quietly, his dark eyes unreadable.

“Th-thanks. I started making coffee for us—”

Gutlessly, he dashed through to the bathroom, and the escape of a warm shower.

It was weird how much the events had come to mirror those of the previous evening. When he re-emerged from the bathroom, Akechi was seated at the table, two steaming cups of coffee awaited them with the box containing the chess board now relegated to the floor, and there was that same tension remaining. Like last time, Akechi had the tablet from the television stand in front of him, only now, he was looking at the activities of the other occupants.

“Not much has happened,” he said breezily. As though everything that _just_ happened between them was really no big deal at all.

Ren could only stare at him incredulously, unsure how to respond. His mind was ablaze with questions, with _things he needed to say,_ and here was Akechi, calm and cool and almost unaffected by what had just happened.

“Room five are _still_ on their meagre eighty points,” he continued. “I wonder if they’ve either given up or are just comfortable in their own hell?”

Ren thought of Iweleth, the final level of Mementos he’d encountered before they’d taken down Yaldabaoth. The shadows of real life, ordinary people, discouraging them from trying to stop the disastrous events overtaking the world, comfortable in their miserable little cells, drained and devoid of meaning beyond supporting the status quo. Akechi hadn’t been with them at the time; that was the Christmas Eve when he was presumed dead, when only _after_ Yaldabaoth’s defeat, he’d shown up at Tokyo Square and found Sae, somehow managing to convince her that he was behind everything and that her search for Ren was wrong, and that he would confess everything from the psychotic breakdowns to the murders.

Mementos was gone, Iweleth and that Christmas Eve were just memories, but people still lived like that, and maybe Akechi was right, maybe they _were_ happy, to a point, here. He frowned.

“Did we complete the task?”

Akechi nodded, and flicked onto their profile. Their tally now stood at 41 points—two points gone for the chess board. Gone was that weird sense of elation and relief they’d had the first couple of times they’d received points; it was now just an accepted given; they’d survived to the next brutal round. It was like escaping a room full of fire through a window, only to find that the drop was into a pool of piranhas.

“Have you looked at the next lot of tasks?” He sat down, cradling the coffee cup between his hands. It felt warm and secure and comforting.

“Not yet. I assumed, like last time, that it would be better to look at them together and make the decision. Although… Ren…” His voice cracked slightly. “I _really_ think we should consider maybe taking the other category of tasks for awhile.”

Ren blinked. “Let’s see what they’re telling us to do now.”

_#1: Subject A must create an incision on Subject B’s body of at least 100mm in length and 8mm depth.  
#2: Subjects A and B must mutually stimulate one another’s genitalia to the point of ejaculation._

Ren wondered if Akechi had already had a look at the tasks, merely _saying_ he hadn’t, in a show of camaraderie. But seeing at his face now, pale and shocked, he realised that there was no way he had, and _that_ reaction couldn’t possibly have been staged.

“Well, that’s… more equitable, I suppose,” was all Ren could manage. He gulped. It was almost anticlimactic compared to the escalation of the tasks, and it was still preferable to _cutting into_ Akechi. But he wasn’t sure how Akechi was going to view things.

“At least they aren’t suggesting we need to use any equipment this time,” Akechi muttered awkwardly, still staring at the screen. “And at least with _this_ one… like you said, it’s …more equitable.” His voice faded out blankly, as though the gravity of their situation was just sinking in. 

“So we’ll do it?” Akechi’s voice was uneasy but resigned. Ren nodded, and watched as Akechi’s slim index finger made the selection, and he placed the tablet on the table in between their cups. He sipped his coffee. “Really, though, Ren, I think after this one we probably should consider returning to the other set of tasks—”

Ren wasn’t sure what to say. Ordinarily, he’d have tried to make a joke or an upbeat comment at least, that hey, the sex ones weren’t _that_ bad, and that Akechi gave _really_ good head, but the tension in the room was suffocating. He just looked down at the coffee cup in his hands and nodded glumly, non-committal. The nightmarish vision of blood streaked over white towels, of that angry red injury, of the way Akechi hobbled through to the bathroom afterwards—it was still burned into his mind. What happened if he couldn’t do it a second time and only injured him _again_ and somehow it was _worse_? Or what if he _could_ do it? And what would they ask him to do _next_? Already cutting him was bad enough—where did things graduate to after that?

He just nodded quietly. Somewhere in the back of his mind was the idea that after they’d completed that task—and they could do it easily, right?... compared to what they’d already done—they only needed another fifty points; they were halfway through this nightmare. Five more things left to do.

They remained at the table, sitting there in silence, sipping their coffee, lost in their own thoughts; in a way, it reminded Ren of more normal times, that crazy year back in Tokyo when he’d first met Akechi, when they were hanging out a lot and not-quite-dating and there were awkward lulls in the conversation for a few moments, in the night air of some outdoor café in the streets of Kichijoji. Everything seemed so innocent back then, even though it really wasn’t.

Their eyes didn’t quite meet across the table; there were dozens of unspoken, unanswered questions, just like there were last time, like each was waiting to see the whites of the other’s eyes before making a move. It was weird how in some ways, so much had reverted back to being what it had been before they really knew one another.

Ren looked down at the floor where the box with the chess set was. He considered suggesting a game; but it was late, they were tired, and he wasn’t willing to utilise chess as a distraction until they were actually bored.

“I’m… going to bed,” he said, at a loss for anything else to say.

Akechi merely nodded. “I suppose I’ll join you.”


	8. Day Six: 41 pts

Ren hadn’t slept as well as Akechi seemed to. He shifted around, trying to get comfortable, his mind ablaze with events from the evening, trying to piece together so many seemingly inconsistent things in order to make sense of them.

And then there was the fact that they would, tonight, reach a halfway point in this terrible vacation. Before they’d left for the airport, he’d anticipated swimming and strolling around, beachside, enjoying the sun’s rays, trying new foods, doing stupid touristy stuff like taking photos of glorious scenery and buying his friends gifts.

...And he realised he’d return to his friends’ questions—“How was it?” – which filled him with a sense of dread and apprehension, because no matter how long they spent here, there was no way he could figure out how to reply.

He’d certainly been somewhere different, seen a side of Okinawa that he didn’t know about, and had done things he hadn’t done before… but they definitely weren’t the sorts of holiday memories he could mention in polite company. At least he could honestly tell Morgana and Ryuji that the food was good.

Then there was Akechi. He suspected that when he came out of this, he’d do exactly what he always did after some big stressful traumatic event, and go to ground, shunning human connection and contact with everyone, and in all likelihood, Ren wouldn’t see him again afterwards. It made him feel bitter and angry: everything _else_ intense and horrific they’d endured together seemed so purposeful; it was to save humanity— _this_ was ensuring their own survival and came with an extra undignified set of requirements. The idea of never seeing Akechi again after this was depressing, but a reality he suspected he was going to have to adapt to.

Akechi, though, slept soundly, moreso than Ren had ever seen before. It appeared that the last task had tired him; he didn’t seem as _compact_ , lying in bed now; he was flopped lazily on his side, a leg stretched out behind him, one arm under the pillow, and for the first time Ren could recall, snoring very quietly. Had the gradual buildup of events finally gotten to him, completely exhausting him, or did the last task bring on a sense of comfort in a way, that allowed at least some of his guard to drop? People slept like this when their mind was too tired to be able to put up a façade; it was slumber of someone exhausted through to their core. Maybe that halfway point, and tonight’s task, represented something to him, a release of pressure, and a return to the tasks he felt more comfortable with?

He got up and went through to the bathroom, checking his phone—4:56am. The curtains were closed even though there was no need for them to be; it gave an illusion of privacy, he supposed, but even if they were open, the “sky” facing them would have been dark. He wished he could step outside for once; walk along the beach in the cool morning air, alone with his thoughts, considering everything that had happened. Sitting on the toilet with the door closed was the closest he was going to get.

Having time to think was _good_ , but being left alone with his thoughts made him uncomfortable, because at the moment, they inevitably returned to… this. The old adage about being careful what you wished for occurred to him; he’d somehow gotten it, but in a completely unfathomable and unexpected way.

And it would be over, for good, in five days. He had no allusions that they would be like the three people in Room Number 5, sitting on eighty points for months; somehow they’d pull through this and get out… and then he’d be left dealing with the aftermath.

It had hurt when Akechi betrayed him, and then cruelly reappeared in Shido’s palace, only to have been taken from him again. And then he’d come back, changed, but still very much himself, and Ren had felt another jolt of hope, only for them to be arguing on the eve of taking down Maruki’s perfect world. They’d fought it out, and then Akechi had vanished again, this time, presumed by most of his friends to have been a figment of everyone’s imaginations, a wish granted by Maruki. None of his friends had commented on the fact that when their deepest desires had included the return of what meant the most to them, it had been dead parents and best friends coming back, or loving relationships they’d never had with significant people, but for Ren… it had been _him_. There were so many things he could have wished for: parents who gave a shit and accepted him and supported him, money, fame, a different appearance, confidence… but the only thing he’d really wanted, for better or worse, was Akechi.

And he’d agonised over that afterwards: did Akechi _really_ return, or was he one of Maruki’s idealised puppets, as Haru’s father and Futaba’s mother, and Madarame were? _No_ , he decided, Akechi was the real deal: and unlike everyone else who’d returned, he wasn’t sweetness and light; if anything, he was even moodier, more vicious and snarky, and crazier than he’d been when he “died.” But Ren didn’t care. He was _back_. And then he’d gone again.

And just as Ren was getting used to that, just as he’d had closure with his other friends, and with Tokyo itself as he returned home—there’d been that glimpse of Akechi on the platform at the station. And then there’d been _nothing_. And _then_ , out of nowhere, came that message on his phone. It was emotional whiplash.

He knew he needed to get over him. And he’d tried. Quite earnestly, sometimes— the dating scene terrified him, but there’d been a few hook-ups, nothing substantial and worthwhile, though— none of them really compared, even when the sex was good and there was the barest hint of a possible connection. It lacked the intensity, that genuine closeness, that _whatever the hell he’d had_ with Akechi had provided.

He thought about the escalating tasks and where they were going to end up: it seemed likely that if they continued in this vein, at some point in the next few days, Akechi would be presented with the order to have sex with him, something that was equally nerve-wracking and exciting.

Then there was _that_ , too: both of them had been fairly guarded about their sex lives, but Ren distinctly got the impression that Akechi had _far_ more experience than he did. His knowledge about the gag was one clue, but then the way he’d quite genuinely seemed to not be bothered about their roles in _that_ tier of tasks being reversed—and then the last activity… suggested that he at least had some idea of what he was doing. He tried to remember what Akechi had said earlier: he’d been coy and suggested that he had some degree of experience, but was tight lipped about just what he’d been up to. Ren wasn’t sure if it was partly wanting to sound worldly and experienced, or partly just wanting to maintain some self-respect in not talking about anything too vulgar—either one of those could be true, he supposed.

How would Akechi respond to a task like _that_ , though? He hadn’t really balked at the current one, and had seemed absurdly okay with the last one—and been _extremely_ good at it— but where did the limit sit for him?

And then there was the awkward fact that Ren… wasn’t quite as experienced. Sure, he’d given and received a few blowjobs, he’d made out with a few people and there’d been a few mutual jerk-off situations, but beyond that, nothing. Returning home didn’t really offer an expansion of his sex life, then coming back to Tokyo left him tired and busy and between jobs or at LeBlanc, and the lingering sense that he probably hadn’t entirely gotten over Akechi sat in the back of his mind, likely stopping him from really seeking out anything more with anyone else. Even coming back to Shinjuku, he hadn’t really gone checking out the adult stores; he was still somewhat nervous—worried that someone might see and recognise him, worried that someone might see him looking at a particular type of products and make assumptions. What had happened to Ryuji when they’d first gone to Shinjuku still lingered in his mind, and the idea of some older man seeing him browsing sex toys made him deeply uncomfortable.

He sighed. The only thing about this which was making it _worse_ was how perfectly concerned and patient Akechi was being, too. He doubted he’d be bothered by his lack of experience, and was almost grateful that it looked like his first time was going to be with someone who at least was concerned for his wellbeing and willing to be respectful, even if there was no emotion behind it.

It was awkward to think about, but he _really_ needed to talk to Akechi about it. They’d had a few conversations that got real and uncomfortable, but he suspected that at least some of Akechi’s apprehension about these tasks was to do with his idea that Ren wasn’t particularly into things. The only problem was how to indicate that he _was_ , without sounding like he was applying pressure or being a pervert.

When he got back into the room, Akechi was still asleep, and Ren couldn’t help but smile; he looked peaceful, for a rare moment, and he deserved a good rest.

He crawled back into bed, pulling the sheets up to his chin, and decided that he’d get at least another hour if he could, swearing that today, at least, he’d try to talk to him.

“Um… I think we need to talk about this.”

They’d just taken their seats at the table and removed the cloches from their breakfasts (omelettes with a selection of vegetables) when Ren spoke up.

Akechi looked at him, his face questioning, but silent.

“What would you like to talk about?” he asked. “Are… you starting to have some second thoughts about the task we chose?” He glanced over at the television. “We can change it if you’d like, we know that from—”

 _Yeah. I’d prefer not to think about how we learned about that loophole_.

Ren shook his head. “I don’t want to change it,” he said quietly. And then guiltily, as though reminded—“How’s your leg this morning?”

“It’s fine.” Akechi truly did sound _fine_ and unbothered, but like there was a hint of hesitation there; perhaps _he_ wanted to talk about something as well. Ren wasn’t sure; he was hard to read normally, but when he did _this thing_ , this super-breezy, almost indifferent but at ease _thing_ , it became even harder to decipher what was going on with him.

“How are _you_ about what happened last night?” he asked tentatively.

“Fine.” Akechi speared a mushroom with his fork, seemingly enjoying it, as Ren watched him carefully. There was something about how carefree he was that bothered him. “I told you before “I would be much more at ease if the positions were reversed, and they pretty much were for that task, weren’t they?” He sliced into his steaming, fluffy omelette, and then looked up at Ren. “Are… _you_ not okay with where these tasks are going?” he asked carefully. “Is that what’s bothering you?”

Ren wasn’t sure what to say. _Everything_ about _this whole entire set up_ was bothering him, and he had so many questions about Akechi and how he was feeling about it that he had no idea where to start. So much he just wanted to say, and so much that he would have wanted to say if he wasn’t terrified of how Akechi would react.

“No,” he said eventually. “But I’m worried you’re feeling forced into doing them, even though—” and he cut himself off. It was awkward now, _he’d_ made it awkward. Maybe if it had been Ryuji he could have complimented him with a “ _You really do give good head, dude_ ,” and it would have lightened the mood somewhat, but he suspected it wasn’t going to work here.

“I guess you could see where I was coming from now,” Akechi muttered. “Though I suppose you felt the same with the blood-letting exercises too.” He frowned. “And I’m concerned, like I said last night, that we might have to revert to those at some point.”

“I wonder where they’re going to go with these ones,” Ren said. “I mean… compared to the stuff involving the sex toys, this one’s kind of tame, isn’t it?”

“More equitable, I think you said.” He was smiling slightly.

“We have five tasks left after this one,” Ren said. “And I suspect that after this, they’re going to be… actual sex.”

Akechi nodded without saying anything.

“And—” God, how had this conversation turned into _this_? “I’m… just saying that I genuinely don’t mind if we just stick to these ones, okay?”

It felt like a confession, of sorts. It was weird how he’d veered so far off course; there was so much he wanted to discuss with him, so many things that hadn’t been answered and so many gaping, open questions he had, yet somehow this is where he’d arrived.

Akechi just stared at him for what felt like a very long time. “While I feel like that’s you being very selfless—and reckless, and daring—and all the other things I’ve come to appreciate about you—I don’t think that’s fair,” he finally said.

“To which one of us?” Ren asked. There was defiance in his voice. “If it’s about _me_ , this is fairer than making me cut you. If it’s about you, then…” _I want to know why_.

“It’s about both of us,” Akechi said gently. “For one thing, we have no idea where they’re going to end with this.” He looked thoughtful. “I imagine you’ve done exactly the same thing I have and tried to consider where exactly these tasks wind up going…” He trailed off. “Our contemporaries in Room Number 5 seem to be held up on eighty points, as they seem to have been for some time. To me, this suggests that whatever the next three are, are doable, but beyond that, they become impossible.”

“That’s assuming that they’re being given the same tasks as us—”

“And that they even exist, and all of that other stuff,” Akechi said. “I _know_.”

“Where do _you_ think the tasks end up then?”

“My initial assumption was intercourse,” he replied awkwardly. “And… I can understand if that is unpalatable to you—I mean, you’ve been going along with all of these as the subject so you weren’t forced to hurt me.”

“I _couldn’t_ hurt you.” _And besides, I can think of far worse things than getting a handjob from you_.

“I realise that.” Akechi’s voice was low and even. “As much as I’m not particularly excited about it, you’re probably going to _have_ to at some point. And… yesterday, we started discussing the camera feed—and then got side tracked—”

“Are you thinking about putting it up again?”

“Yes,” he said. “Looking at the other participants, it seems that no one else has. No one’s points exceeded their days in here, except for our longer-staying anomalies, which probably suggests everyone else has the same apprehension about their rooms’ footage being shared as well.”

“Except for those people in Number Five.”

“Right, but if they’ve gotten to eighty points, it’s a safe assumption that they were trying to get all the way through and stopped, and aren’t going to release their footage to the rest of the study.”

“So you’re saying… they’ve dug themselves in too deep and they can’t go any further, but whatever the ninth task is is too extreme for them to want to make it public?”

“Exactly.”

“Unless they opted to put it up on day one and have only done seven tasks. And can’t do number eight in front of a camera?”

“That’s also a possibility, yes.”

“Perhaps we could go to ninety points—which is only another four days of this,” Ren suggested. So, four more tasks after this one, which is …mutual stimulation.”

Akechi wasn’t saying anything, but listening intently.

“So what’s the next one?” Ren asked. “Sixty-nine? Again, not exactly fun or easy to do under cameras, but we know we can do it given the last two tasks, right? What’s the next one? Sex toys of sort? Harder BDSM where I have to wear a gimp suit and you have to hit me or something…?”

Akechi was watching him, stone-faced again, as Ren sort of rambled.

“Eight or nine is probably actual sex. But then after that, we can choose to release our footage to the other rooms, and by that stage we’ve completed all our tasks, and it doesn’t matter. They can film us just sitting on the bed waiting to get let out or packing our bags or something. Maybe it’ll give the people in the other rooms some hope that they can survive this…”

“You seem to be _extremely_ blasé about this,” Akechi noted. “As well as very willing to believe that I’ll just happily follow you down the garden path and do whatever this lot of tasks demand.” Something in his voice had grown almost hostile.

“Well—” Ren trailed off. Guilty, when he thought that Akechi made a fair point, but also confused. “I… felt like you didn’t hate last night’s task,” he said diplomatically.

“I can’t keep doing this to you,” Akechi said. “It’s not fair on _either_ of us. I agreed to this one, because, like you said, it’s more equitable, but for the next five, we should return to the other tasks.”

“Even though they’re escalating to severe levels of horror very quickly?”

Akechi just stared at him then, looking irritated. “As much as I would prefer not to ask you— exactly what happened to you in the interrogation cell?” he snapped. He’d placed his cutlery down, and seemed to have forgotten about his breakfast.

“I told you,” Ren said. “I was drugged, handcuffed to a chair, beaten up by a bunch of Shido’s goons— _cops_ —and kicked around a bit. And then Sae talked to me for a few hours, and then you wandered in and apparently shot me in the head.” _His_ voice had grown bitter, too.

“So you’re at least telling me that you weren’t sexually assaulted while you were in custody,” Akechi said coldly. Another strange, unreadable look came onto his face then.

“No!” Ren said.

“And you weren’t forced to hurt anyone else while you were in there?”

“No!”

“They didn’t, I suppose, make you give one of the guards a handjob or you didn’t have to fuck his face while he had no way of saying _no,_ in order to survive, did you?”

“No! I—”

“You probably couldn’t do that to another human being, could you?”

Suddenly, the penny dropped. _Shit_.

He stared at Akechi, who returned to eating his breakfast, a strange, eerie calm seemingly running through him now, while self-loathing and disgust covered Ren.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. And then came the irritation— _I think you enjoyed last night_.

And then came the _guilt._

 _Maybe that was just his body reacting involuntarily_.

And then the annoyance. _Or maybe it wasn’t, and he’s just being pious and manipulative._

_Or maybe I’m being the asshole here._

“Either way we play this,” Akechi said calmly, “We have to hurt both ourselves and the other person. I saw what cutting me did to you, Ren. It turned you against your base nature which is to _not hurt people_.”

“And you seem to be fine with hurting people, yet you draw the line at sex stuff, I guess. Gotcha.”

Akechi just nodded, and ate a few more bites of omelette, before the frustration finally caused Ren to cave.

“Even though I’m pretty sure you’ve had way more experience with this stuff than I have, and you seemed to really know what you were doing.” _And I distinctly feel like you actually enjoyed it, too._

Akechi finished his bite of omelette, glaring across the table at Ren. “If that was supposed to be a compliment, or a means of manipulating me into continuing along this set of tasks, you _failed miserably_ , Ren,” he hissed.

Ren was _annoyed_ now. His breakfast was getting cold, and somehow what had started as a reasonable morning had turned into _this_. Again. He was used to Akechi being defensive and angry and pushing people away when he felt vulnerable; it was possibly one of the things Ren actually _liked_ about him; that he was a stupidly risky, daring _challenge_ , that nothing with him was ever simple, so it made those little ins with him that much sweeter. But this was just _frustrating_.

“Trying to make me angry with you didn’t work for trying to make me cut you,” he snapped back. “It’s probably a really dumb suggestion before we have to do the handjob task.”

They didn’t talk to one another for the rest of the day.

The chess set remained in its box on the floor next to the table, unopened and unused.

Akechi shifted from the bed to the bathroom to the table, only speaking to Ren when the two cloches of lunch and dinner appeared in the collection chamber, and it was only one word. “Lunch.” “Dinner.”

And Ren only responded with two words. “Not hungry.”

After dinner, Akechi responded with three words (“Fine. Suit yourself.”) and sat at the table alone, very slowly consuming what appeared to be finely sliced wagyu beef over noodles and an accompanying green salad, apparently relishing the food, in a manner that was equal parts irksome and almost close to indecent.

It took every ounce of self-control not to cave then and there and to just join him for dinner. By that point, Ren had to admit that he _was_ hungry, but he was also extremely confused—and pissed off—with Akechi. Maybe some of the shine had been buffered off him after Shido’s palace, and maybe his sharp edges had been blunted somewhat after Maruki’s, but he was still volatile and moody and frustrating. Just as things seemed to be peaceful and normal—and getting intimate with him—he’d somehow blow up and ruin them.

And of course, then there was the guilt Ren felt. If his interest wasn’t at all returned, and he was thinking after that conversation that it definitely wasn’t, then he _was_ taking an unfair—and perverted-- advantage of this situation. He just wished they could somehow, miraculously _talk_ about things; but it seemed like every time they tried that, he couldn’t really say what was on his mind, and Akechi shut him down with an expert barb and then pushed him away.

Eventually, though, he succumbed to the temptation of dinner. It wasn’t like he was offered wagyu beef very often, and he justified it to himself as not wanting to lose points for wasting food. But he waited until Akechi had finished, stalking off to the shower haughtily, to hastily eat his dinner, and then cleared everything away into the collection chamber to await the dreaded task.

By the time he’d finished, Akechi had appeared from the bathroom, wearing one of the bath robes, glaring daggers at him as he closed the door, wordlessly walking across the room to shower himself. He could admit he’d calmed down a little—at least the food was good and there’d been enough hot water remaining to wash himself; it was just how _confusing_ Akechi was that annoyed him. And some degree of apprehension about the night’s task; this wasn’t really like the last time they’d done something like this and could just not face one another; the instructions had said “mutually,” which suggested that they had to be doing it _together_.

Akechi was sitting on the bed when he stepped out, staring ahead at the television screen.

“I think something’s wrong,” he said.

“Why?”

“There’s been nothing from the collection chamber so far.” The television was displaying the task they’d selected. “The light came on and then went off, but it hasn’t come back on again.”

Ren was confused. It was bad enough being confused about _Akechi_ , but were the researchers screwing around with them as _well_? He had no idea.

“Maybe they’re giving us the night off?” It was a stupid guess, but this whole thing was ridiculously unpredictable anyway.

“Who knows?” Akechi shrugged.

“Maybe they aren’t letting us do it because we were fighting?”

“I’d hardly call _that_ a fight.”

“So we’re going to fight about whether or not that was a fight?”

“That was _you_ most likely feeling guilty after I’d suggested some harsh truths about the matter, and then you refusing to talk to me for the rest of the day.”

“So we _are_ going to fight about this being a fight or not?”

Akechi sighed, and shifted up against the pillows. “Let’s just try doing the task and get it over with. So far they haven’t _not_ awarded us points when we’ve completed one, so we might as well attempt it.”

“And if we don’t, we at least get a—” Ren cut himself off. He frequently resorted to off colour humour when things were tense and he had no idea what to say; sometimes it _really_ didn’t work so well.

Akechi just eyed him from where he was sitting, loosening the tie on his bathrobe, letting it fall open casually, and Ren followed. It was… hardly any kind of romantic, but it would have to do. Yet again, if the circumstances had been different—

“We don’t have any lube,” Ren muttered. He stepped off the bed. Akechi blinked, coming to the same realisation he had, and Ren walked through to the bathroom again, in search of something—the bathroom _was_ stocked with all sorts of fancy skincare products, there was probably some moisturiser or _something_ in there he could use as a reasonable substitute.

He walked out with a bottle of conditioner and a pump pack of imported body lotion. “Take your pick,” he said, holding them out in front of him. “Luxuriant softness, or extra body and shine?”

Akechi chuckled. It was the first time in what felt like _ages_ that he’d laughed at anything, and in a way, it highlighted both the ridiculousness of the situation and eased at least some of the tension.

“This is absurd,” he muttered, pumping some of the lotion into his hand.

“Yeah.” There wasn’t really much else Ren could say to that, and he took the bottle and rubbed some of the creamy liquid over his hands.

He wasn’t sure where to look. Unlike last time, looking ahead seemed weird, because he would be pointedly ignoring Akechi, similar to how Akechi had stared vacantly ahead when they’d been doing the task two nights ago. Maybe he could do it; Ren felt rude and weird about trying to do the same thing.  
  
Looking down just felt _weird_ , and the idea made him feel self-conscious. And it _shouldn’t_ be weird; he knew that; he’d seen Akechi naked before, two nights ago he’d had his dick in his mouth—though he’d shut his eyes through most of that, he realised afterwards— he’d done things that seemed far more intimate than a simple hand job, and anyway—

“Shall we begin?” It would have been reasonable if Akechi still sounded annoyed, or frustrated. Instead, his voice was irritatingly neutral, only hitching a bit awkwardly, and Ren wanted to curse him for being so… normal about this. He nodded, a distinct feeling like they were in some unspoken competition as Akechi’s hand shifted down between the folds of his bathrobe and between his legs.

He bit down on the inside of his bottom lip nervously. They were sitting so close together that it felt like if they timed it right, he could try to imagine that he was just getting himself off, with Akechi sitting next to him, which was possibly a bit strange, but wouldn’t have been unappealing under other circumstances. He felt the warmth of slim, creamy hands stroking over him, and his cock stirring slightly as he was touched.

This was still weird. It reminded him, for some reason, too much of that time they’d faced one another in battle in Mementos, there was still tension there, and Akechi had a grim, irritated expression on his face as though he just wanted to get this over and done with. Gone was the gentle intimacy that had been between them for the previous tasks, and to his irritation, his dick barely seemed to be responding to the touch anyway.

What if… they failed this?

“Well?” Akechi asked. It sounded like a dare or a threat, and Ren realised that both his hands were resting next to him, in wait.

“Sorry,” he muttered, squeezing some more of the lotion onto his hand and slipping it between the folds of Akechi’s bath robe. He was nervous in a way that he wasn’t last time; when he thought about it, all the other times had required him to he the _subject_ , for Akechi to take charge and do things to _him_. This task represented a shift in that; now his hands were free and he was an active participant as well. There was no veil of a blindfold between them this time, either: they were literally forced to face one another.

He tentatively brushed his fingers over Akechi’s dick, surprised that it was stiffer than his own. And in a way _that_ made him nervous, too: what if he couldn’t, well, _perform_? It felt like there was so much more at stake here with this task; like they were forced into competition even if they hadn’t been arguing earlier in the day—and when Ren considered it now, he wasn’t even sure _what_ they were arguing about—and it just gave a nasty air of tension to the situation that hadn’t really been present for the other tasks. Or maybe everything just seemed easier now that it was behind them.

Akechi seemed to be aware of the tension too. He offered Ren a few quick strokes and when nothing really happened, he sighed. “Perhaps this will be easier if we just close our eyes and try to imagine things are different.”

It was a good idea, albeit ironic, because Ren _had_ , in the past, worn that damn glove, eyes shut, his mind full of fantasies that it wasn’t _his_ hand stroking himself but Akechi’s; now the fantasy had materialised, it wasn’t actually working.

He shut his eyes. In some ways it worked; he focussed on the sensation of those slender, skilled hands running over him, still feeling very little beyond acute awkwardness. The thick towelling of Akechi’s bath robe was getting in the way, too, and everything felt wildly out of sync and just… _strange_.

But Akechi was hard.

It was strange; he felt like he wasn’t—wasn’t able to—do much, from where he was sitting, yet somehow, it was still enough to make _his_ cock swell in his hand and stiffen, while his own was barely moving.

Eyes still closed in concentration, he felt the mattress beneath him shift slightly, Akechi’s hands moving away from him for a moment, as he repositioned himself, untying the bath robe now, and very deliberately leaning into his hand.

Like he was _enjoying it_.

He opened his eyes in that split second; Akechi had shifted himself closer, and looked momentarily startled, caught in the act, as Ren’s gaze met his own. But the expression on his face gave everything away—wide-eyed and intense, he did _not_ appear at all nervous or bothered by what was happening.

And _that_ was what got to Ren. He felt a sting of embarrassment at being caught, as though he’d seen something he wasn’t supposed to; but that wide-eyed focus and positively _lustful_ expression on Akechi’s face was wildly erotic, and one Ren knew he’d be guiltily adding to the mental archives for later contemplation. He ran his hands down Akechi again, tightening his grip slightly, adding some twists into his movement.

And then Akechi moaned softly.

 _That_ was what did it; not the way he was handling him, but that gentle, almost exhausted moan that sounded like release, like whatever Ren was doing had shifted beyond being forced and awkward, but into something that felt _good_ , something that was very much wanted.

Part of him had always suspected that Akechi would be fairly verbal during sex, that his knack for witty comments and knowing the right thing to say would only naturally come to life in the bedroom, and that he probably had a repertoire of filthy observations to come out with. Which was, in the depths of his fantasies, hot as hell, but the reality, the focus and concentration, those little moments where he just seemed to forget himself and all pretence of polite dignity, and moans erupted from him— _that_ was hot.

His eyes opened again as he felt Akechi’s movements speed up on his now semi-hard dick, and he gazed down at him; he was thoroughly occupied, as though Ren’s movements were inconsequential. Ren felt guilty for a moment; _again_ he seemed to be taking the lead even here; and he shut his eyes again, determined to focus as he felt a dribble of precome leak down his hand.

And then he felt warmth and softness against his shoulder, and a hot, moist breath against his ear. “Fuck, you’re hot.”

Ren felt his breath hitch, and a shudder run through him, and increased the speed of his own movements against Akechi; somehow what was probably meant to be encouragement or thanks, or _something—_ he whimpered— was wildly arousing in its own way, and he arched his hips up against Akechi’s rapidly tightening, faster movements. Jerking his own hands a few times against him, trying to emulate his movements, and now feeling locked into an absurd sense of competition which he did _not_ want to fail—it would be kind of shitty if _he_ got off but Akechi didn’t, he removed one hand, pulling himself against the warm body next to his.

And then he felt two things happen simultaneously; Akechi made a tiny, almost pained yelp, and he would have jerked back in concern until he realised there were warm, soft lips crushed against his own, and a mouth yielding against his desperately, his tongue almost aggressively exploring his mouth, as though desperate to distract himself and dominate him.

 _Fuck_.

And then there was the way his hand was hot and sticky and soaked, like Akechi had just lost all control and exploded into his touch, despite still being hard.

He pulled away from the kiss, only to be pushed down against the mattress, futilely trying to continue, as Akechi’s mouth covered his own again, his kisses aggressive and furious. His pulse raced and his mind was simultaneously trying to calculate what was happening to him and around him, and then the magic was broken and he felt that warm, low breath against his ear again, hand tightening around his dick as it slid lower, catching towards the base.

“ _Ren_ —”

That was all it took. In that moment, which was probably less than a second, somehow everything was right and the world was perfect, and somehow he could feel both his heart racing and Akechi’s pulse racing against his, ragged breath against his neck and a strange sort of strangled gasp, as he opened his eyes and glanced down. 

Akechi was shifting, pulling his soiled bath robe around him, wiping his hands over it awkwardly before tying the cord around his waist, red-faced and sweaty, strands of hair wildly askew as he still caught his breath.

Ren didn’t know what to think. He was reeling from all of it; the orgasm being only part of the story; what was making his head spin was that—

 _Akechi had kissed him_. And it was so quick and so unexpected and so… _superfluous_ and equally unexplained, and now he was in autodrive panic mode, fastidiously trying to recalibrate himself.

“Hey—” Ren didn’t know what to say. It was only seeing the smile on Akechi’s face against the tinge of a blush that he realised there was an overwhelming sense of relief there as well.

“I hope they realise that we were successful,” Akechi said quickly. He’d reverted to awkward panic, and dashed towards the bathroom.

And Ren, still making sense of what had happened, still dazed and panting and weirdly delirious, let him go.

When he reappeared, Ren had attempted to tidy up somewhat. He’d stripped the bed at least, and was holding the door to the collection chamber open in order pile the linen into the hamper. But he wanted to shower himself, to get out of this sticky bathrobe that now bore the odd scent of a combination of lilies and semen, and he assumed Akechi was feeling the same way.

They exchanged a strange look of acknowledgement as Akechi saw what he was doing, before Ren hurried into the bathroom with his set of clean pyjamas.

The shower was still warm, which he was grateful for. But overwhelmingly, he had a sense of confusion about everything, emotional whiplash. _Last time_ they’d done a task, Akechi had stuck to the script. He hadn’t veered off and… done anything extra.

And sure, maybe it was hot, maybe it had been nothing more than getting caught up in the moment and going with it, but there was the undeniable reality here: Akechi had kissed him. When he hadn’t needed to. When the task had required nothing that intimate and personal; he’d somehow _fixed_ what was meant to be an uncomfortable, awkward handjob, and turned it into whatever the hell had just happened then.

And he no longer knew what to think.

It was probably just a perfunctory action designed to put Ren at ease so they could get the whole thing over and done with, but it had now turned into a prism of something _else_ reflecting off the whole situation, given them one more awkward thing that they needed to discuss.

He stepped out of the shower and dried himself, quickly putting on his pyjamas, still feeling a weird, giddy, tingling sense at what had just happened. Even if it didn’t mean _anything_ , it had still felt good. Even though he knew that once he’d come down from the high, from his pricking, over-stimulated nerves, he was going to descend into a pit of wretched guilt and self-loathing for this one.

“Ren?”

He stepped out from the bathroom, to see that Akechi had thrown his bathrobe, and the towel he’d used, onto the pile of bed clothes for the collection chamber hamper. He was sitting at the table, not quite meeting Ren’s eyes, not quite distracting himself with the tablet, either. And his voice sounded panicked, like he’d been caught in the middle of doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing.

“Are—you okay?” His nervousness was infectious, and Ren’s voice was loaded with concern now.

“I’m—sorry,” he said, his voice speeding up. “It appears that they did award us the points, though, and we got it over much quicker than we probably would have otherwise, but—”

It sounded like a retraction. A regret. And Ren didn’t know what to say. In the shower he’d been giddily thinking that if maybe there was something genuine in that kiss, then the sex tasks were possibly not going to be as difficult as they appeared at first, but now, Akechi’s demeanour was giving him reason to second guess his whole take on the matter.

Ren focussed on moving the linen into the collection chamber and shut the door. He moved towards the small table where they’d taken to sitting after tasks, as Akechi shifted to the kettle. “That was our last bottle of water,” he said. “I don’t know if they’re planning on giving us some more tomorrow or maybe we have to spend points to acquire some, but since it’s boiled, we can easily fill the kettle from the bathroom with tap water and it should be—”

“ _Goro_.” Ren couldn’t remember using his name before in conversation, but it was enough to make him startle, freezing up, staring at him, a deer caught in the headlights. Like he’d been slapped out of his rambling. He stared at Ren, silent.

“I _really_ think we need to talk about this.”

“As do I.” Gone was the shock, replaced with calm. “After all this, I think it’s time we revert to the other set of tasks,” he said. Like he’d been thinking about it while Ren was showering, rehearsing saying this. “I suspect both of us know what the next one in the sequence will be now.”

Ren didn’t say anything, but glanced across at the tablet. He hadn’t even noticed, but at some point the television screen had flickered on, with its message of completion displayed.

51 points.

Five days left.

And it all seemed so very unimportant right now.

“I…” _Obviously you_ don’t _want to talk about this, actually_ \-- “think we should probably have a look at the next set of tasks,” Ren said.

And then the guilt washed over him again as he moved towards the television stand to grab the tablet. “Let’s see what the next task is. If it’s something where I’m having to do something to you—or you’re expected to—do something _with your body_ to me, that maybe we can talk about the cutting one.” His voice shook at the memory of all that blood. “I… still don’t think I can cut you like that. But—” And he paused, inhaling, “I don’t want to force you into doing something sexual, either.”

Akechi nodded quietly. Something in his expression had shifted to a new sort of calm, like he was willing to accept that.

“The next task,” he said, “Is _going_ to be sexual in nature… both of us know that.”

Ren clicked on the tablet and waited for the screen to load.

“Of course it is. But… If you’d rather me cut you than you having to… have sex with me, I suppose I’m going to have to let you choose the task then, right?”

Akechi stared at him. “I can’t say I’m enthralled about the idea of another attempted failed surgical procedure,” he sniffed, “But— all right then.”

“I know these are making you uncomfortable,” Ren rambled. Somehow, the discussion had felt steered by Akechi, and turned into Ren desperately trying to agree with him even though he wanted to say something else… but he was now terrified that saying that something else would make him look like a pervert. “And… I appreciate how you were trying to alleviate my discomfort during the last one.”

Akechi made a strange little noise then, and brought two cups of green tea over to the table, sitting down as Ren passed over the tablet.

“Looks like I still don’t have to cut you,” he said grimly. He wanted to sound triumphant. But again, like so many times before, the victory, if you could call it that, felt so hollow and fake and worthless; a Kamoshida gold medal in abstract form.

“Oh?” Akechi reached out to accept the tablet, frowning as he looked at the options.

_#1: Subject A must create an incision on Subject B’s body of at least 100mm in length and 8mm depth._ _  
#2: Subject B must stimulate Subject A point of ejaculation without stimulating his penis._

Akechi raised his eyebrows, then gave a resigned sort of sigh. “I suppose I can do that,” he said. He sipped his steaming hot tea gingerly. “I wonder if they expect us to use any… implements… or of it’s more like tonight’s task was?”

Ren shrugged. “Nothing listed here.”

“I suppose if they have any further requirements, we’ll see what they are after dinner tomorrow.”

Ren nodded. Akechi seemed calm again, in the same way he did after the preceding activity. But was it genuine calm, or was he just bluffing because the alternative meant an argument, and the sort of chaos that ensued when they failed the cutting task?

“Thank you,” Ren muttered quietly. “I know this isn’t easy for you and—” He desperately wanted to say something. Like that it wasn’t so arduous or awkward for him, that if this was happening under just about any other circumstances, he’d be enjoying it, that Akechi was actually _really thoughtful and good at this_ , but anything that came to mind sounded pitiful—or perverse.

“So… you are happy to go with the _stimulation_ task?” he asked. It sounded so final. _Last call, gates closing—_

Ren just nodded, and watched as Akechi selected the task, and the tick appeared in the small box. The screen faded out, and he placed the tablet on the table top.

“I have an idea,” he said afterwards.

“Yeah?” It was strange hearing him initiate conversation, but sometimes Akechi had very good ideas, especially when it came to strategy.

“In future, once we’ve completed this task, we decide on the tasks we’re going to do via a game of chess.”

Ren looked at him, puzzled, and Akechi smiled.

“It’s simple,” he said. “We play a game of chess. The winner gets to choose the task.” His smile had widened. “That way I _know_ you’ll be giving it your all when playing against me, and I can accurately gage just _how_ strong a player you are. Not to mention, it will be a reasonable distraction that keeps us mentally occupied—and—” He sounded as though this had been on his mind for awhile, and Ren could feel nervousness setting in. He _knew_ Akechi was a good player, and obscenely competitive when he wanted to be. He also knew that he _really_ didn’t want to get stuck attempting the cutting task again.

“What happens if we stalemate?” he asked. It had happened before, with games where they were furiously chasing one another around the board with very few pieces, and not enough for a clean win.

“We play again, I suppose.” He shrugged. “It’s better than arguing about it and I suspect that after this, the second tier of activities is going to be just as difficult—” _For you, maybe_ , Ren thought—“as the cutting one.”

“What happens if I have to try cutting you again and can’t? I can’t just keep cutting into you with a scalpel and hoping to get it right.”

Akechi looked thoughtful, and sipped his tea again. “You really don’t think you can do it, don’t you?”

Ren nodded. In spite of all … _this_ … the idea of hurting someone, even someone who appeared to be all right with it—was repellent to him.

“No.”

“The other class of tasks might go to a place where I won’t be able to—” he cleared his throat awkwardly— _“perform_ , so to speak.” He frowned. “I have no interest in hurting _you_ , either.”

“You haven’t.” Ren’s voice was quiet and uncomfortable. “If anything, _I’ve_ been feeling guilty because you weren’t really enjoying yourself, but I—” And he stopped, unable to continue. He’d been pushed to this point, and didn’t know how to deal with it. And Akechi was studying his face carefully, as though scanning him for any kind of lies or discrepancy—

“ _Really_?” he asked sceptically. “Tonight you were so uncomfortable about me touching you that I had to resort to extra moves to make it happen—”

_I was nervous because I thought you didn’t want it—_

“And you looked terrified during the task with the gag—” His voice softened. “You don’t have to endure this and pretend to enjoy it just because you don’t want to hurt me… it’s _hell_ , Ren, I get it.” He sipped his tea, his eyes on Ren’s, wide and concerned. “I just… really hope this doesn’t destroy our friendship.”  
  
In a strange way, Ren felt like there was something hopeful in that statement. A crack of light peeking through darkness.   
  
But he had no idea what to say. He suspected that their friendship was irrecoverably changed long before they'd acknowledged it. 


	9. Day Seven: 51 pts

Ren clutched the bed clothes around him as he lay awake in the darkness. The lights were all off, everything was still and unnaturally silent, which suggested to him that Akechi wasn’t sleeping, either.

Normally, he slept well after a physically exhausting day, especially if it had come with some sort of emotional altercation. But tonight was different; amongst the exhaustion, there were far too many questions, too many things that didn’t add up, far too many _huge_ inconsistencies.

And then there was the way— and the _way_ —that Akechi had kissed him. In the moments afterwards, when he was reeling on the bed, he had the fleeting thought that _perhaps_ they were going to discuss things—and they kind of had, but Akechi, typically, had steered the conversation well away from what he felt they actually _needed_ to discuss.

And it had been frustrating: the push and pull, back and forth intensity followed by nothing. The mixed signals. Akechi being as prickly and cranky as he was about nothing, and then absurdly calm about other things, interspersed with what appeared to be genuine affection and concern for his wellbeing.

He’d gotten out of bed twice now, once to use the bathroom, the second time to empty the bar fridge of the miniatures that were in there (that was three standard drinks, wasn't it?) in the hope it would at least encourage his body to rest.

Unfortunately, nothing—not the exhaustion, not the darkness or the relief—or the alcohol—seemed to inspire slumber. He lay in bed, closing his eyes, figuring that staring at the black ceiling ahead was pointless, anyway.

And then he felt a slender calf move against his own; what felt like an involuntary action as Akechi was trying to get comfortable enough to fall asleep. He didn’t know whether or not to shift away, even though the feeling of warmth and weight against his own leg was unexpected. So he just remained as he was, waiting for Akechi to shift if he wanted to, wondering how long it would take.

He didn’t move.

And then—maybe it would be easier if they weren’t actually looking at one another—Ren decided to say something.

“Akechi?”

“Mmm?” He sounded irritated, but strangely enough, he still didn’t shift away, emboldening Ren to move just a little closer to him. But he wasn’t sure what to ask. It was as though so much of it had been covered earlier, but diverted away, and Ren felt like an idiot for saying anything.

“ _What_?” There was now a much more awake sort of tension in his voice which was startling. _Shit_. Ren had bothered him, had a head full of things he wanted to ask, and somehow, _Why did you actually kiss me like that and has anyone ever told you that you are a really good kisser?_ seemed wildly inappropriate. So he blurted out the next thing that came to mind, which was equally terrible, something he only realised after saying it.

“You miss him, don’t you?”

“ _Who_?” Now he _was_ snapping, and he shifted angrily, pulling the bedclothes tightly around him.

“The guy you were seeing three months ago.” Ren was determined not to get dragged into a fight, and after all, he’d so stupidly asked anyway, and knew he had no right to. If Akechi told him to shut up and go to sleep, it would be justified.

But instead, he didn’t. He made a soft murmur, like he was considering what to say, and then said, “Not really, when I think about it.” Then in typical hit-back-with-an-offense—“How about _you_? You said it was about six months ago--?”

And Ren was completely stymied. He deserved it, but he hadn’t really expected it, nor did he particularly want to explain the situation, because however it could be explained wasn’t very flattering. But he sucked in his breath. “There wasn’t anyone.” he admitted.

“So you lied to me? To make me feel more comfortable, was that it?”

“No—” _Shit_. Again, he’d somehow managed to make a tense, quiet situation _a whole lot worse_ —“There wasn’t anyone _important_.” God, that sounded terrible. “I just… had a few casual experiences.” It sounded _so_ much worse out loud. It wasn’t _bad_ , and Ren still felt like he wasn’t some kind of sex crazed lothario, but nothing serious had eventuated.

“Oh,” was all he said. A silence hung around them for a short while, and then Akechi relaxed slightly. “He was the son of a high-ranking political figure—”

Ren was fascinated. Akechi _never_ talked about _any_ of this stuff, and he was already trying to imagine what this mystery figure looked like. But one thought occurred to him. “One of Shido’s--?”

“I’m sure he _knew_ the man, but they weren’t close,” he said airily. “I didn’t have much to do with him, but became acquainted with his son… through shared connections, I suppose you could say.”

There was another silence, but Ren was fascinated now.

“What was he like?” It felt like a ticking time bomb, seeing just how much he could get away with before Akechi exploded—or shut down.

“He was four years older than me, working for the Finance Ministry, he holds an Economics degree and was _highly_ ambitious, and was very discreet,” Akechi said. “He broke it off when he got engaged.”

“I’m sorry.”

He sniffed. “It was bound to happen,” he said. Still sounding rather unaffected. “He was decent enough to get serious about the woman he was engaged to, which meant that he had to shed certain liabilities, I suppose.”

Sheesh. “You’re not a liability,” Ren muttered. Somehow, the thought of Akechi being used and disposed of by someone _else_ , being another person’s dirty little secret—as he had been Shido’s for so long— was upsetting.

“I knew it was bound to happen,” he said. “People leave. You get used to it.” If he’d been sitting up, he probably would have shrugged. Once again, Ren didn’t know what to say, and was worried that if he said _anything_ , somehow it would be horribly rude—or worse yet, _pitying_ — and Akechi would be annoyed.

“What about you?” he shot back. “Was there someone before your period of extended meaningless fun?” _Ouch_. That actually sounded almost hostile. “Did someone manage to capture the heart of the notorious phantom—”

Ren chuckled, cutting him off. The idea of him being some mysterious, sexy phantom thief was one he’d grown into and come to enjoy over time, but it never quite translated like that in reality. When it came to relationships, a part of him still felt like the same awkward, nervous kid who’d first shown up in Tokyo.

“No."

Maybe if he’d been into girls, it would have been easier; he wouldn’t have arrived with the extra baggage of rumours and accusations of being a pervert, he’d have been able to play the field and enjoy his reputation. He’d been close _enough_ to a lot of the girls and women in his life over that year, and to an outsider he might have looked like he was dating everyone with two X chromosomes who appeared on his radar, but no matter how deep those relationships were, they were just intense, devoted friendships.

“I suppose someone in your position gets to have high standards,” Akechi said quietly. “Though I honestly thought you and Sakamoto were trying to figure yourselves out.”

Suppressing a chuckle, Ren managed to keep a straight face. “No,” he said. “There was never any interest on my part—he’s my best friend.”

“Oh.” Akechi did not sound convinced, but he did sound willing to drop the subject. “And I suppose if anything happened between you and Kitagawa, then—”

“Wait, _Yusuke_?” A laugh escaped him. “ _No_.”

“Really?” Now he just sounded embarrassed. “I understood that you went down to Mementos with him on occasion, and he referred to you once as a great inspiration, and—”

What the _hell_? “As a _friend_.” Ren paused, unable to help himself. “I was helping him with his _art_.” _We don’t all suggest private Mementos meetings for suspicious reasons_ , he was tempted to add.

“Having seen some of his work and his studies in nudes, that does _not_ sound particularly convincing.”

Decent point.

“It didn’t happen,” Ren said. “And… anyone _else_ you’re going to assume I was sleeping with?” Maybe he was sounding a _little_ but defensive. But the idea of Akechi focussing on each of his friends and seeing a sexual relationship there was ridiculous.

“Well I suppose—”

“There wasn’t _any_ one,” Ren cut him off with, before Akechi could make some truly horrifying suggestions. “You saw what that year was like, I was _busy_ —”

“And—” Akechi’s voice had grown lower and more serious now—“you still found time to accompany me to the jazz club and—”

Ren’s breath caught in his throat. He felt dangerously close to admitting something now, and was half waiting for Akechi to steer the discussion in another direction. Instead, there was an uncomfortable silence that he felt desperate to speak into.

“I was curious about you,” he said carefully. “And then I realised I enjoyed your company, we enjoy a lot of the same things...” _And I somehow wound up telling you about things I never told any of the others_ —

“Likewise,” Akechi said. He almost sounded nervous. “I know things …ended up where they did, but I really did enjoy spending time with you.”

“I realise that.” And he _did._ That was one of the things that was so frustrating about the situation: intellectually, Ren understood entirely why things had happened as they had, that fate had unfairly pitted he and Akechi against one another, and they were both just playing out their respective roles.

“And… then—when you didn’t need to—you came back.”

“Yes. I did.”

There was something unspoken and awkward between them again, something they’d both been well aware of for months now, and had comfortably ignored in favour of whatever the pressing issue of the moment was. At least they were talking about it now.

“And—I realise you just came back because you saw a threat to the world and knew something was going on and no one else did and—” Suddenly, he was rambling again.

“You were the only person I could trust.”

“Even though we parted as we did on Shido’s palace.” His tone was dry and incredulous.

Ren felt something then, like the space around him stiffened, like Akechi’s tension had a life of its own and seeped out of him and into the mattress, engulfing both of them.

“I was furious after that event,” he hissed.

“I know.” Desperate to keep his voice even, and to hopefully move onto another subject, Ren was waiting for it: the explosion or the shutdown. But in the darkness, and with a sharp inhalation of breath, Akechi continued. “You and your friends had ruined what had become my sole reason for existence.” He paused. “I knew I was going to get finished off after taking down Shido, that there were so many other people invested in him; I just hoped to hang on long enough to see him broken and shamed and cast out of the society he thought adored him. All his success and honour—revealed for the sham that it was. I would have saved Japan, if not the whole world, as well... a nice little side bonus, I suppose.”

Anger was rising into his voice again.

“Would… that have made you happy?” Ren asked.

“ _Yes._ I could have died in peace, knowing I did what I set out to do.”

Ren didn’t know what to say to that. He was glad—in spite of where they were now—that Akechi _hadn’t_ died, that he’d fought side by side with him as they took down Maruki’s sugar-coated imitation of reality.

There was another silence that felt like an eon between them, and then Akechi shifted around uncomfortably. And Ren decided then and there to take what felt like an enormous risk.

“Didn’t you ever consider that maybe you’re worth more than a series of actions? That you had as much right to a future as any of the rest of us did?” He sucked in his breath, awaiting the inevitable explosion or shut down. When neither came, he continued. “Didn’t you think that maybe people _wanted_ you to stick around?” He thought of Ann and Morgana, pleading with him in Shido’s palace, when Akechi, crazed and bloodied and exhausted, was practically shrieking at them about how he didn’t need anyone _or_ their useless pity.

“Please, Ren,” he said in a sneer. “Your friends scarcely tolerated me when I returned and only did so because they had a use for me.”

“Your fans?”

“Never knew me. They moved onto the next big thing the moment I failed to dispose of you and I went dark.”

Ren thought it was probably not wise to mention the gay couple he’d overheard in Shinjuku who had sounded genuinely concerned about his disappearance.

“What about _me_?”

And then there was another gulf of silence.

_I_ _’ve broken him_ , Ren thought to himself. _He’s shut down and he’s not going to say anything else and I’ve run out of things to say anyway_.

“People leave,” he said quietly. “I knew you’d be all right.”

“That wasn’t what I asked,” Ren said testily. “Maybe you didn’t know me as well as you _think_ you did.”

“I thought you were smarter than to expect some sort of meaningful connection with the person who tried to kill you.”

He made a decent point. He’d come to a fair conclusion. But it was wrong.

“I hung onto your glove,” Ren muttered. “I looked for you on my last day in Tokyo because I wanted to say goodbye.”

“Why?”

Ren could feel the linen tighten around them again as Akechi pulled the sheets over himself, like they were a protective layer of some sort. It was frustrating how he did that, and he assumed that after this—despite Akechi saying he was worried about the state of their friendship—he was just going to vanish again anyway. Why _not_ take a stupid risk?

“Because I like you. Because I care about you—”

“You care about _every_ one.”

He ignored that. “—And I just wanted to talk to you at least.”

“We’re talking _now_ , aren’t we?”

“And... I missed you.” Sucking in his breath, Ren knew he was about to make a stupidly daring, outlandish move. Stuff like that had worked in the Metaverse, but this time, he knew he wasn’t going to land on his feet—but he didn’t care. And Akechi's persistent silence and subtle irritation were pissing him off. 

“You wanted to know _why_ I wasn’t doing anything serious?” he asked, determined and not expecting an answer. His words were low and deliberate and quietly furious. “ _Why_ there was no one important six months ago?” God, he was actually saying it. Thank fuck Akechi couldn’t see how flustered his face was. “Because every time I’d meet someone, and we’d fool around, it was …nothing. It wasn’t friendship. It wasn’t good conversation. It wasn’t even interesting. Unfortunately—” His voice was rising unnaturally now—“All those months of hanging out and doing things with you and having deep conversations and chatting on the phone afterwards—” He was getting angry and humiliated, and was horrified at himself for even saying this when he already knew it wasn’t going to end well, but he’d started it and might as well finish it. Maybe he could pretend he’d forgotten this tomorrow morning if the alcohol actually kicked in and he was hung over—“you fucking _ruined me_.”

Akechi made a strange, strangled-sounding little noise, and tugged on the bedclothes again, saying nothing.

And somehow, _that_ was fucking enraging. He’d just… been honest, spewed his guts like that, and all Akechi could do was ball himself up into the bed sheets—which he’d pulled halfway off the bed now, leaving Ren’s partially exposed back to be hit with cold night air—and feel sorry for himself. Ren was certain that had the option to run away and disappear existed, he’d have taken it.

“You fucking used me, and then resented me for giving a shit about you and felt too guilty to even face the music.” _And then you hooked up with some closeted finance fuck who abandoned you because of course he was going to_.

Akechi said nothing, but flung the sheets away from him in one swift movement, storming off into the bathroom, swearing loudly as some part of his body connected with the television stand in the darkness.

Ren hated to admit it, but the bump had been loud, and the hiss of pain from Akechi made it sound like it actually _had_ hurt.

 _Good_ , Ren thought angrily.

The television was what woke them up.

Eventually, Ren had fallen asleep, the haze of not-very-strong alcohol at least exhausting him enough to doze off in the empty bed.

Evidently, Akechi had returned from the bathroom some time later, and had climbed back under the sheets, so close to the edge of _his_ side of the bed that he looked like he was going to fall off. When he awoke to the “ding” of the television alerting them to breakfast arriving in half an hour, he scurried back towards the middle, only slightly, cautiously looking at Ren.

They both looked like hell. Even though they’d both managed to get _some_ sleep, it had barely been enough, and Ren noted that Akechi’s typically demure awakening was absent; in addition to the bloodshot eyes and the scrambled hair, dark circles rested in sunken hollows beneath his eyelids.

He wasn’t feeling great, either, but logic dictated that they were stuck here for, at the very least, another four days. Assuming they passed the task. Assuming the researchers were actually going to stick to their word. Somehow, they had to at least tolerate one another and get through these god-awful tasks.

“Hey,” was all he said as means of greeting. He didn’t know what else to say and was in a state of shock as he remembered in technicolour glory, the previous night’s discussion.

“Mmmm.” It was acknowledgement, nothing more though. A deep uneasiness still permeated the space. Ren felt like he was meant to apologise—but a boiling, barely-contained anger still resided within him—anger at Akechi, anger at this whole awful setup—and anger, he realised, at himself. He shouldn’t have let himself get carried away like that; somehow in his attempts at getting Akechi to talk, _he’d_ wound up looking like the fool, and he had no idea how to fix it.

They probably weren’t going to discuss this, and for once, Ren felt like that was actually a good idea. He watched Akechi pace through to the bathroom, a quiet dignity in the way he walked, his head held high. And he looked at the television screen, shuffling forward on the bed to lean over and reach the tablet from the television unit.

Idly flipping through the menu options, he wondered if Akechi was going to reappear, dressed and fresh-looking and irritatingly calm, and if he’d suggest that perhaps they could switch over to the cutting exercise.

But Ren knew he couldn’t. Not after this. He didn’t _like_ the idea of lashing out in rage as he had; like Akechi had said about him cutting him—it wasn’t _him_. But then again, was _any_ of this _either_ of them? Maybe that was the most horrifying thing about this experiment: was this who they really were at base level, everything stripped away except a need for survival, or had they been _pushed_ , manipulated so badly into the very things they swore they weren’t? Was _that_ what this experiment was about? How much it took to _break_ someone, to strip away their innate humanity and basic identity? Again, Ren wondered how things would be if Ryuji was with him—he still couldn’t quite fathom the idea of Ryuji being anything but completely heterosexual—how long would it take for Ryuji to be behaving in a way that seemed to contradict that?

He flipped over to the other rooms, in a vacant, bored need for distraction.

And then he gasped when he saw it. Loudly enough to cause Akechi to rush out from the bathroom, still looking tired, but worried.

“Check this out,” Ren said grimly, looking at the screen in disbelief.

Akechi didn’t notice it at first, likely testament to how tired he was.

“Room number five.”

“They’re on ninety points now.”

“Yes, but—”

“There were ...three people in there last time. Now it says there are two occupants.” His voice was deadpan monotone, and his eyes widened with horror.

“I guess they had a more eventful night than we did,” Ren said. A sense of nausea and panic had set in. Initially, seeing they had hit ninety point almost gave him a spark of hope; they were closer to release, and Ren figured that when they hit one hundred points, he'd be able to see if they actually _were_ released.

Akechi just stared at the screen. Like he was trying to run the mental calculations, trying to find some more reasonable explanation than the one that was obvious to Ren.

“Do you think that person died because they did one of the tasks?” Ren asked cautiously.

Akechi was still staring at the screen. “I… don’t know…” he said weakly. “Perhaps one of them was objecting to the task and the other two found it easier once they were dead? Perhaps they died of natural causes and—” He was quivering. However he tried explaining it, it was horrible.

“I hope it wasn’t one of the families with a kid,” Ren said quietly. And then the light flashed on above the collection chamber, a momentary distraction in the gloom, and they both rushed to it in wait for the relief—even though Ren wasn’t feeling hungry—of breakfast.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

Akechi had wheeled out the trolley, they’d placed their plated food on the table and sat down, and breakfast had just been revealed as they lifted the cloches in unison.

Staring at the steaming hot pancakes in front of him, Ren stifled a giggle. It wasn’t funny. It was simultaneously fucking hilarious.

Akechi glared at him from across the table, as he tried desperately to maintain an impossible poker face. “They… look pretty good?” he offered.

He said nothing, and Ren watched as he meticulously sliced into the stack in front of him, not saying anything. Pancakes were yet another thing they hadn’t discussed barring one time in Mementos where Akechi made it abundantly clear that he never wanted to even _think_ about them again. Ryuji had found it amusing.

“Are you okay?” Ren asked gently. Obviously the researchers didn’t do this on purpose, it was just another one of those moments that suggested that the universe had a terrible sense of humour and even worse timing.

“They’re delicious,” Akechi muttered, before chewing down on a mouthful of them.

Ren watched him carefully, unsure what to say. Conversation between them seemed strained now; he felt like he was in a shop filled with expensive and fragile things— _just don’t touch anything_ —and he ate, in careful silence.

He was so focussed on his food that he could have missed it, but he was also so acutely aware of any changes in his surroundings that he couldn’t not hear it. A soft, uneasy voice between a sip of coffee.

“Ren?”

Ren looked up, his mouth full of pancakes. They actually _were_ delicious, at least he’d been right about _that_ —“What?”

“I didn’t realise that you harboured that much resentment towards me about leaving. I honestly thought I was doing the right thing.”

That sounded suspiciously like an apology. Akechi didn’t apologise. Not for anything he’d _willingly_ done, anyway, and Ren had vaguely wondered if the apologies uttered during the tasks had been for him rather than anyone else.

“Forget about it, it’s no big deal anyway.” Shovelling another forkful of pancakes into his mouth, Ren looked down at his plate. He was going to be sick if he kept devouring them at this rate, but somehow, that still felt like the better option.

“No—it is. And we probably should attempt to discuss this—”

“Why, so we can have another uncomfortable day before you are forced to do something to me that you don’t want to?” He _hoped_ he didn’t sound angry, and again, was waiting for Akechi to shut down or explode.

“I don’t know what good would have come out of it, that’s all.”

“It’s okay,” Ren muttered. “We have four days left of this after tonight. Let’s just do the stupid tasks and get it over with and pretend this never happened, all right?”

“I was serious about what I said last night.”

Ren glanced up at him, fork in hand, trying to remember. It felt like so much had happened since then—

“—about hoping this didn’t destroy our friendship.”

Ren stared at him uncomfortably. His neck felt sweaty and disgusting, and he really wanted to have a shower and wash his hair. “Looks like we were never destined to—”

“ _No_.” Akechi was insistent. “I’m starting to realise now that I probably ruined things before we even got to this point.”

He didn’t know what to say. Akechi didn’t do this. And yet now, here he was.

“As a matter of fact, I didn’t really know how to deal with any of it after Maruki’s defeat,” he said. “I knew and accepted that your friends don’t like me—”

Ren wanted to interject, but didn’t know how to say something convincing—

“—and I knew you were going back home anyway. Contacting you again only seemed like a moot point, something entirely selfish.”

He nodded, slowly chewing another mouthful of pancakes, unsure what to say.

“If—you really must know, I did head down to the station to see that you boarded the train at least. I noticed from a distance you seemed to be talking to Yoshizawa, and—”

 _What_? He’d _thought_ he’d caught a _glimpse_ of him outside the train window, and had convinced himself that it was some sort of cognitive mindfuck. And then, in the months after, that Akechi really was gone—right up until that text message when he arrived back in Tokyo.

“I assumed that I owed you the dignity of being able to move on. And I didn’t realise that you held me in such high esteem… especially after everything that had happened.” His voice was shaking nervously. “Part of me assumed you would be glad to be rid of me, that disappearing again just made it easier for you and your friends to celebrate the victory, that you could enjoy your time with them with minimal problems, that—”

“I’m sorry I went off at you last night,” Ren muttered. “But really—don’t worry about it—”

Maybe he’d relaxed a little bit. Cutting a small mouthful of pancakes off the side of the stack with the edge of his fork, there was a shy laugh in his voice. “I feel like every time I try to do what seems to be the decent thing by you, I somehow make it worse, don’t I?”

“No—” Ren didn’t know what to think. Was this the sort of closure he’d been seeking out? He wasn’t sure any more. “You’re not a mind reader,” he said quietly.

“I can imagine how it must have looked from your perspective. Truth be told, I expected after surviving Shido’s palace, I’d just go into hiding. When you were defeating Yaldabaoth, I felt the least I could do was own up to my part in everything. If Maruki hadn’t changed things, I would probably be in jail right now, looking at the death penalty—”

Ren froze. The idea of losing Akechi like that—after everything he’d fought through and survived—seemed so utterly pointless.

“I’m glad that didn’t happen,” he said. “Maruki shifting circumstances so you could get released was the best possible turn of events… I actually owe him there, I suppose.”

Akechi frowned. “I still don’t regret anything we did afterwards.”

“Neither do I.”

“Being trapped in a plastic utopia wouldn’t have suited either of us. To be honest, I was horrified that your friends took so well to it—”

“They came around,” Ren said through gritted teeth. “And we all fought Maruki. And even after that, Maruki helped me escape those goons on the way to the station—”

“About that, by the way—"

Ren raised an eyebrow. He had no idea what had happened; it was yet another thing they hadn’t really talked about.

“—they were looking for me.”

“What—happened after they found you?” he asked.

“I was taken to the police station, and they interviewed me. I was honest—and they thought that I was crazy. They refused to believe in the Metaverse, and said that Shido had pinned the killings on someone else, some mercenary who appears to have disappeared.”

“And the psychotic breakdowns?”

“Apparently there was a batch of some sort of narcotic doing the rounds which one of Shido’s yakuza contacts had been selling. They found traces of amphetamines in the train driver’s blood and the fast food worker, and—” He stopped himself. “I tried telling them about what really happened. They charged me with a few minor offences and I was assessed and deemed insane. I was ordered to attend rehab. Which I did.”

Ren tried doing the mental math. “So… for the months I was back home and not hearing from you, you were in rehab?”

“Yes. For some of the time, anyway.”

“How… was it?” He recalled his couple of weeks in juvenile detention. “I hope it was better than juvie.”

“It—” Akechi looked down at the table top awkwardly. “I was very fortunate,” he said. “I was familiar with the premises and the staff there and they treated me well.”

Ren eyed him suspiciously, and then wondered exactly _why_ he was familiar with the facility.

“My mother spent some time there when I was small,” he said. “One of her associates was apparently rather wealthy and took pity on her.” His voice sharpened. “It’s not something I have disclosed to anyone else given that—”

“It’s okay,” Ren said softly. He was torn between curiousity—every little piece of information about Akechi was so rare and precious—and pity that he didn’t want to have. “I won’t go telling anyone.”

“Besides, it’s not really something I want to dwell on,” he continued. “But… yes. That’s what happened to me after you returned home.”

Ren wished he could remain like this for the rest of the cursed vacation. Just sitting at a breakfast table, actually talking to Akechi normally, hearing about his life, enjoying his company. It reminded him of far more innocent times which seemed to have been overwritten by this madness.

“I’m sorry I dragged you out here,” Ren admitted. “I’m… sorry this… stupid vacation, that was _meant_ to be just simply spending some time together, got turned into this.”

“You wouldn’t have done this if you’d known,” Akechi said. “And—we are more than halfway through it right now. We’ve survived so many other things… I don’t doubt we’ll survive this.” He sounded very grounded and sensible, as though he’d given it some thought. “The circumstances could have been a lot worse.”

Ren gulped down his sip of coffee. Akechi had been brutally honest with him, and part of him wanted to return the favour, while another side of him was terrified. But he owed him the truth—it was hypocritical to be annoyed at him for being so guarded when there were things he wasn’t saying as well.

He exhaled deeply before speaking, his eyes not quite able to meet Akechi’s. “Look,” he said slowly, “While the circumstances are really awful and I know you’re not enjoying this very much, and I wish things were entirely different—” _Fuck_ , he was screwing this up badly— _“_ and I realise this probably sounds really awful—you’re better at the tasks than I think any of my other friends would have been.”

“Oh?” Akechi leaned back, raising an eyebrow. His expression was awkward, and there was a slightly pink tinge to his cheeks, but something devastatingly curious in the way he was looking at Ren.

Which made it even more uncomfortable to reply, but he did.

“You’re… very good with… _things_ ,” Ren finally admitted.

“Oh?” He didn’t sound angry, more… willing to grab whatever flattery he could. In some ways, his desire for acknowledgement still existed and it was one of the few areas in which Ren felt he was quite transparent.

“Let’s just say…” Ren said awkwardly, feeling the heat rush to his face—“If this was all happening under any other circumstances, I wouldn’t be finding it as stressful and arduous as I am right now.”

“ _Oh_.” Akechi looked greedy in that moment. Like he was dying to hear an explanation.

“I’ve been worried that you’ve been forced into these activities because of what you said about doing things you thought that I didn’t want, but…”

That smirk was making him was to scream.

“If you are feeling guilty about doing things without my consent, don’t,” he stumbled out with. “Okay?”

Akechi peered at him for a long time, and then his voice softened. “I suppose I do have a particular skill set,” he said, a hint of smugness in his voice. “And I suppose that you of all people seem to be especially good at finding out things about me that I don’t willingly share with others—”

“I’m serious,” Ren said. And something cracked again. The even tempered, perfectly controlled note in his voice had gone, and suddenly his words were unshackled, runaway carriages racing forward, uncontrolled and dangerous.

“I used to _wonder_ , you know, all those times when we were meeting up before either of us really had any idea what we both were, when we’d just hang out and do something in the evening and you introduced me to the jazz club and we played pool and had coffee and we talked about stuff and when I told you about my parents and what happened in school back home and you didn’t race off in disgust and then you kept wanting to see me and—” God, this was a mess—“And then you’d text me with _I’m alone right now_ and then we went out to the aquarium and even Ohya thought we were on a date and I always wondered, even when I started suspecting you, and god—” He was well and truly rambling now, and he knew he’d already said too much. He longed for Akechi to put him out of his misery, to say something in response, to _laugh_ , to make some cruel wisecrack, hell, to get up and storm out again in his characteristically avoidant fashion—to do _something—_ but instead he just stared at him across the table, his eyes wide and dark, the tiredness really showing on his face—

“And I really _didn’t_ want it to be you. Right up when we heard that message on the phone I was just in shock, I kept wanting so badly to be wrong, and to keep seeing you and was kind of wondering what things would have been like if you’d been interested in me for normal reasons, if you were just—”

Akechi watched him, the curiousity and colour draining out of his face, with the terrible realisation of what he was hearing.

He opened his mouth, slightly, but nothing came out. And Ren just stared at him.

“I’m sorry—I’ve made this weird—”

“No—” Still looking completely stunned in a way that was entirely unfamiliar to Ren, he blinked, as though he was carefully considering how to respond. He looked down at the tabletop, and seeing Ren’s left hand rested on it, clasped his own over it gently.

“If the world was a fairer place and the situation hadn’t been so awful between us,” he said, each word coming out slowly and with a manufactured-sounding calm, “then… maybe things wouldn’t have gotten so complicated and things might have turned out differently.”

Ren nodded miserably. Somehow yet again Akechi had turned the tables and been so unexpectedly, thoroughly decent.

“I—doubt it would have come to much though, Ren,” he continued with more than a hint of remorse. “Have you considered that in many ways we are _so_ alike—we’re equally matched on a lot of levels—” he chuckled nervously—“though I’m the superior chess player— and there’s still a lot you don’t know about me.”

There was a lump in the back of his throat. He’d pushed for this. It was his own fault. It was to be expected. “We could have very easily destroyed one another and whatever connection we had if things had… gone in a different way.”

Ren didn’t know what to say now. It was the kindest, most decent and downright _classy_ rejection he’d ever received. And it still hurt, even though it was brutally logical.

“Perhaps we should just comfort ourselves with the fact that we have four more activities left and they probably aren’t going to be as terrible as they could have been, and at least I no longer have the sense that you’re only enduring them for my sake, but—”

 _But what_? All he could do was nod, as Akechi squeezed his hand.

“I considered it, too,” he admitted. “That incident in the cell had… its effects on me.” He paused again. “I only realised after the fact, once the sense of completing the mission had disappeared, after Shido congratulated me, once the adrenaline had worn off—I’d done something irreversibly awful—”

“You didn’t seem too upset about it when you saw us in his palace,” Ren said. There was a nervous laugh in his voice. “You seemed pretty pissed off, actually.”

“I was,” Akechi admitted. “I’d disappeared and was grieving, and then I see you and your friends on television saying you were going to interrupt my plan—that you were going after _my_ mission, that you were—” He cut himself off. “It doesn’t matter any more, really, does it?”

“No.” Ren offered a sad, distant sort of smile. “I’m going to go have a shower,” he said quietly, before escaping into the bathroom.

Oddly enough, the morning’s discussion hadn’t put a dampener on their interaction for the rest of the day. It wasn’t like the previous days of ignoring one another or simply not talking; the depressing discussion had, if nothing else, cleared the air, allowing for a game of chess. And the chess had been virtually silent—but a warm sort of silence, an _understood_ sort of silence— at least, which had killed a few hours.

All they’d really agreed to was that the winner would be selecting the next activity. It felt like a moot point to Ren after the breakfast discussion, but it still seemed like a decent way to kill time… and Akechi _was_ a good player.

Two stalemates later, though, and a third game which rounded out the afternoon, and Akechi had… dulled. Maybe he wasn’t _that_ superior of a player, Ren thought, smugly putting him in check and grinning in a most unsportsmanshiply manner.

“Looks like I’m still not cutting you,” he couldn’t help but say.

“Good game.” Akechi shook his hand. “I suppose we should give it a break now?”

Ren just nodded. The eased tension, with the undercurrent of finality, of the hurt, left him confused once again. He was glad they were talking at least.

And they only had four more days left after this.

They waited as the light in the collection chamber switched on after dinner, staring at the door nervously.

“You think it’s going to be like last time where they just didn’t give us anything?” Ren asked.

Akechi shrugged. “Who knows? They seem to change up the rules whenever they feel like it, don’t they?”

“They’ve been consistent with the tasks at least. At least they didn’t escalate the cutting one up to something else while we were focussed on the other ones.”

Ren nodded. “I guess I should have a shower,” he said.

When he stepped out, the light was off, but Akechi was standing in front of the door apprehensively.

“Did they give us anything?”

“I’m not sure—I haven’t opened it yet. I think I heard something behind there earlier.”

“I wonder what happens if we just don’t open the door and attempt the task anyway?”

“Hmmm… not something I’d like to attempt, in case there were specifics we weren’t aware of and we were to fail the task.”

Ren just nodded again, and twisted the handle. The door swung open, their expected piles of laundered clothes and linen awaiting them, along with the trolley, and that damning slip of paper with its printed instructions.

Wheeling it out as Akechi grabbed the laundry, Ren just stared at it.

“Well,” he said awkwardly. Somehow, admitting that he wasn’t hating the tasks at breakfast, strange and weird as that had felt, didn’t make this any less uncomfortable. He looked at the items on the trolley next to the sheet. “I don’t even _know_ what this thing is.” He held up a curved, pink silicon object. “It looks kind of like a soup ladle someone brought back for Boss after going on vacation.” He chuckled nervously. “Way to kill the moment, I guess.”

Akechi glanced over at the item in his hand and then picked up the instructions. Ignoring the item in Ren’s hand, he read over them, his face serious.

“Well,” he said with a sigh, “They’ve given us some leeway again with how we do this.” He sounded nervous.

“What’s… _that thing_?” Ren pointed to one of the other items on the trolley. “It looks like some of the weird shit we saw in Maruki’s lab.”

Akechi picked it up, frowning, twirling the cord between his fingers and switching it on. When it glowed in neon vibrance, he switched it off quickly, suspicion confirmed.

“That reminds me of those glow swords in _Space Battles_ —you know, those movies—”

Akechi made a little murmur and placed it down on the trolley. “It’s for electric shocks,” he said quietly, “And unless you’re into that, I’m not—”

Ren just blinked. He could tell Akechi was nervous and quite uncomfortable. And he was… _uncertain_ now, wondering if actually saying what he had this morning had actually made their ability to complete the tasks harder. Sometimes things were easier when you were just lying to yourself… and then there was this assortment of _things_. Having avoided adult shops, and not having been in any sort of long term relationship with anyone, things like—well, that electric thing—were as unfamiliar to him as the gag was.

“It’s—okay—” he muttered out nervously. “I’m not into electricity—at least—I don’t _think_ I am—”

Giving a small sigh of irritation, Akechi looked at him seriously. “This is hardly the time and the place to find out if you are,” he said. “And I wouldn’t feel confident using something like this anyway. Let’s just stick to this one.” He picked up the curved one with the protruding masses on the ends, and then glanced at Ren. “I’m sorry,” he admitted. “This is just… a lot more awkward than the ones where we simply have to follow instructions.”

Ren privately agreed, and part of him—even though some small part of him had almost been looking forward to tonight’s task, just wanted it over and done with now. Akechi’s embarrassment was bad enough, as was the anticipation of whatever the hell was going to happen, and then there was the way seeing all these gadgets made Ren feel uncomfortably naïve and out of his depth. Which was awkward, especially in comparison to Akechi’s relative calm.

“How should I… position myself… on the bed, anyway?”

Frowning again, Akechi looked thoughtful, biting on the knuckle of his index finger. “I guess they have to see the results of it,” he muttered. He was getting flustered. “I don’t know… how would _you_ normally do this?”

Ren wasn’t going to even come _close_ to suggesting that he normally _didn’t_ do things like this, especially since the further these tasks were drawing out, the more apparent it was that Akechi seemed to have much more experience than he did. Things were already awkward enough without admitting to having an almost chaste sex life which had only really consisted on a few quick blowjobs and some reciprocal jerking off. Even the sex toys—it was suspicious that Akechi knew about how to affix the gag properly and that he knew what that… _electrical thing_ was, and that he didn’t seem especially fazed by the funny looking ergonomic dildo he’d been holding. Angrily, he wondered about that politician’s son: was _he_ kinky? He was probably a rich kid, who could afford all sorts of paraphernalia, or he had staff to shop for such things for him, or—

“Are you all right, Ren?” The awkwardness gone, Akechi’s voice had shifted to concerned. “We don’t have to do this one if you don’t want to. Truth be known, I’m worried I might hurt you—”

Ren gritted his teeth. Delay was only going to make this a whole lot worse. “If I don’t do this, and if _you_ don’t do this, I will _definitely_ be having to hurt you,” he said. “Let’s just get this done.”

He flopped awkwardly on his side, relieved that the handcuffs hadn’t made a reappearance with the other items on the trolley. “Do we have to use everything on the trolley?”

“It says all we have to do is stimulate you to the point of ejaculation.” He’d grabbed the instructions and was reading over them again. “Arguably we could probably not use _any_ of the items… it’s almost like I feel they’re trying to gage our preferences… or experiences… or something.” He put the paper down and grabbed the lubricant. “Oh—would you prefer to wear the blind fold this time? They’ve left that here as well.”

Ren had noticed it on the trolley but not mentioned it. While it had made things easier before, there was some part of him that was perversely curious, that almost wanted to see Akechi’s face, that wanted to at least assure himself that perhaps there was a chance that he didn’t hate what he was doing. But what if Akechi _wanted_ him to wear the thing to make it easier?

“Would _you_ prefer I wear it?”

“I honestly don’t have a preference,” he said. He shifted around, positioning himself behind Ren, kneeled over, his toes lost amongst the pillows. “Are you comfortable like that?”

“ _Yes_.” Ren was getting annoyed now. This discussion seemed arduous, and was killing his nerves. Not to mention, there was a chill in the air that was hitting him everywhere the bath robe didn’t cover.

“Okay,” Akechi muttered uneasily. “I need you to tell me if something is uncomfortable though—”

“I _will_ , okay?” Through gritted teeth, Ren shifted himself slightly on the bed, as he felt a warm hand steadying his thigh. He couldn’t quite ignore the shudder in Akechi’s touch: clearly he was somewhat nervous about it as well.

“Just… think of it like it’s a massage or something.” Akechi’s voice hitched awkwardly. “And if we need to stop—”

Ren knew he _wasn’t_ going to need to stop, that stopping would come with getting it done, them getting their ten points, and then slinking off to strip the bed and have a shower as they’d done previously. He just nodded—it was still strange—yet touching—that Akechi was trying his best to make sure he was comfortable despite his own considerable nervousness.

He heard the sound of the lube bottle opening, and then felt those warm, slim fingers gliding down the curve dipping between his thighs, moist and warm and tentative.

“Try to relax a bit,” Akechi said gently. “If you’re tense… I can’t do it.”

He was tempted to come back with something sarcastic, but couldn’t bring himself to. Akechi wasn’t known for his patience or empathy when he was under pressure, and yet… he was really trying right now.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be _sorry_ , maybe…” He sounded thoughtful. “Take off the bath robe,” he suggested.

“Why?”

“Just—I’ll show you.”

Ren leaned back and shrugged himself out of the white towelling, reclining back on his side.

And then he felt unexpected hands, still smooth and moist with the lubricant, pressed against his shoulders.

“Probably better if you lie down properly for this, actually,” he muttered, and Ren rolled over onto his chest.

“That’s a bit better.” Akechi shifted his position—to his irritation, Ren couldn’t see him any more, but still, the feeling of his hands gently kneading his shoulder muscles was worth it. He could sink into this. It wasn’t _erotic_ , as much as it just _felt nice_ , and was strangely comforting and the warmth he was feeling wasn’t only from Akechi’s hands and that lubricant. He wondered if there was massage oil in the bathroom—probably not, it wasn’t really like the researchers were expecting this, most likely—and even if there was, he didn’t really want to get up, anyway. Nor did he feel like telling Akechi to stop, interrupting things, dragging everything on for even longer.

The room was silent except for the soft noises of hands running over him, and Ren hated himself for enjoying it. It made sense, of course, for Akechi to be trying to get him to relax, but still, it wasn’t really part of the task, and it felt like he was going to much more effort than he needed to—but his hands felt _good_ running over him, teasing out the tension in his muscles, warm and smooth and—

His touch moved down lower, focussing on his spine now.

“You’re really good at this,” Ren muttered. Of course he was. He was good at _everything_. “Ever considered doing this professionally?”

“No,” Akechi said. “But thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

 _Ever considered just doing this in future_ with me? Ren almost wanted to ask, to be obnoxiously flirtatious, but didn’t. It was weird how good he was at this: Akechi wasn’t really a tactile person; Ann and Ryuji, and even Futaba in a clumsy sort of way, were more about casual touch and physical affection. Akechi was guarded and prickly and didn’t seem to respond favourably to being touched or having to touch anyone else.

And it was like he _was_ really taking his time; the way his hands glided down his sides, like he was subconsciously mapping out his body, those fingertips searching for tension and gently squishing it away.

Once again, Ren was grateful this was him and not Ryuji. Maybe Ryuji had experience with massages in general because of his athletics involvement, but he couldn’t imagine this sort of dedication and time commitment.

 _I’ll bet he’s really good at foreplay_ , Ren idly thought to himself as those warm hands moved lower. He could feel his dick stirring uncomfortably against the surface of the bed as hands glided over his buttocks. And he shifted, slightly, to relieve the pressure, to—

Then he felt a finger glide over his entrance, almost casually ignoring him, and moving lower. Not quite touching his dick, and with a bit more pressure, enough to make him mumble something against the mattress. He was _definitely_ getting hard now, and drew back slightly, leaning into Akechi’s touch. This was… humiliating in a way, but he couldn’t really deny how good it felt. He was grateful that Akechi seemed to be silently concentrating—not coming out with some snarky one liner—and jerked up when he felt the absence of his touch. Turning around slightly, he heard the sound of the lube container again, and he shuffled over to his side once more, drawing his leg up to hopefully make things easier. The easier this went, the faster it would go and the sooner they could get their points and move on from it… right?

He was conflicted. There was the anticipatory awkwardness, and the humiliation, but he couldn’t deny that he felt good. And then there was the return of fingertips again, and a lot more lube, and a small gasp escaped him as he felt something pushing into him gently, slick with the warmth and moisture of the lube.

Akechi wasn’t saying anything, but his breathing had become audible and gasping, like he was desperately trying to maintain some control over himself as he pushed in deeper. It… was slight enough to not be uncomfortable, and then was over, eliciting a tiny whine from Ren, and a shift in his positioning… and a hand back on him, steadying him as something else harder and less flexible pushed against him.

“Tell me if it hurts,” he heard Akechi mutter in a serious, soft voice. “We can stop—”

Ren tried as best as he could to shake his head, and mumbled something, shifting, desperate for the intrusion to hit _that_ spot as it slid deeper into him, and relieve some of the desperation he was feeling. He was uncomfortably hard now, and his hand, almost with a mind of its own, shifted, moving with the automatic urge to relieve himself.

And then he felt Akechi’s hand, warm and slippery, slap down on top of it, like he knew what Ren’s body was instinctively doing. “No,” he muttered. And then awkwardly, “Sorry.”

Ren murmured a whine of protest, and pushed back against the silicon, wriggling his hips to adjust to it. It didn’t _hurt_ , it was just a manner of frustration now; he longed for the release of a normal orgasm, but this—lying here with Akechi’s hand clasped over him, in spite of the irritation—he couldn’t deny this felt good, too. His muscles clasped down on the toy and he could feel it shift slightly, pushing in a little further and then—

“Ohhhh—” A shudder ran through him, and he pushed back against it.

A nervous chuckle escaped Akechi then, his hand still clasped over Ren’s, as he simultaneously started moving the toy and held him down. But that pressure—hitting that spot—made him desperate for more, for that release. He glanced down and could see his cock jutting up, desperate and leaking precome, something he’d entirely failed to notice amongst the warmth and the moisture and the other sensations wracking him. He pushed back against the toy roughly, and Akechi leaned up behind him, his hand having shifted to clutch his own, his weight and warmth against him, his lips somewhere near the shell of his ear.

His breathing was ragged and almost impressed. “You are doing _so well_ ,” he whispered against him, and Ren felt another shudder wrack him as the toy shifted back and then drove against his prostate. “Really, Ren, you’re—”

The moment of desperation only lasted maybe a second longer, but time had slowed down. His entire body was tingling twitching, sticky and sweaty and desperate. But it was that voice, that _encouragement_ , that illusion that Akechi actually was turned on by this—that ultimately did it. He bucked back against the toy, feeling the base of Akechi’s hand against his wanting, desperate skin, and then his head was full of nothing but relief and release, and all he was conscious of was the wanton scream escaping him, incoherent and loud and all-encompassing, as his dick finally gave in to the pressure.

And then there was that tightness embracing him everywhere, Akechi’s arm wrapped around over him, his fingers interlaced with his own, an elbow pulling him close with such ferocity that he thought the very life was being screamed out of him. And that voice in his ear, wet and husky and barely restrained, muttering his name in awed disbelief, like he was dreaming.

He felt like he laid there for ages afterwards. Eventually everything stilled, and he was aware of the solid pressure of the toy inside him, and pulled away from it as it slipped out uncomfortably. Akechi’s grasp over him loosened, and he collapsed against the mattress, face down, a wave of humiliation washing over him. And then he felt Akechi move behind him, and soft lips pressing against the edge of his ear, partially obscured by his hair.

And then Akechi stood up, still silent, and cleared his throat as he placed things back on the trolley.

Ren looked up. It was so like him, to effortlessly return to normal after something like this, it was his way of dealing, he supposed. His body felt like jelly, and he pulled himself to a seated position.

“Why don’t you have a shower while I tidy up?” Akechi was wiping his hands on a bed sheet, which would have been a bit gross, except that Ren knew that he was going to be stripping and remaking the bed. His voice was so even and calm, it was like nothing had really happened, like everything didn’t smell of sweat and semen and lube around them. He just nodded, standing, not even bothering to grab the bathrobe as he made his way through to the bathroom. He hoped they would discuss this later.

When he returned, Akechi was closing the collection chamber door and holding the kettle. “They didn’t give us any water,” he said. Like he’d completely detached from what had happened. “So I’ll fill it in the bathroom and then have a shower myself. You can fix up the bed and get the coffee ready.”

It was so… coldly practical how he was like that, efficient and frustrating.

 _He probably doesn’t cuddle after sex_ , Ren idly thought, and then glanced at the kettle in an effort to _not_ think about that, He just nodded—he was dazed, tired, and still in a warm, pleasurable sort of haze about the whole situation, but wasn’t entirely sure what to think. He watched as Akechi went though to the bathroom, and noticed the pile of clean bed linen atop the television unit. The researchers hadn’t awarded any points yet, and Ren only realised _then_ that the points situation had entirely been an afterthought.

When he went into the bathroom to retrieve the kettle, Akechi was already under the shower spray, his back to Ren and the door. It was weird—they’d bathed together, sure, they’d done activities that required them to see one another in states of undress, but showering here had always been something private. While Akechi didn’t say anything as Ren grabbed the kettle and slipped out, he also didn’t seem particularly bothered, either, as though their relationship had shifted in another way. He wasn’t sure what to think as he switched on the kettle and grabbed two coffee cups. About that, or about anything else.

Akechi was dressed in pyjamas and towelling his hair when he walked through, and he glanced at the freshly made bed gratefully, before looking at the television screen. Ren had heard the "ding" and seen the points they'd been awarded, but it barely registered.

Akechi merely noted it on his way to sitting down. “Oh, good, we got the points.” Such a casual non-event, really.

Ren didn’t know what to say, and suggested, with what he hoped was the same degree of not-awkward coolness, that they see what the next tasks were.

“My choice, remember?” He was eternally grateful for the diversion of the chess board.

Akechi frowned as the tasks appeared on the screen, opening his mouth in protest.

“Well… that’s different,” Ren said quietly, putting down his coffee.

There were now three tasks listed.

“They changed the rules on us.” Akechi sounded cheated, as though things weren’t _meant_ to have changed. “And…” He looked at Ren, his face serious. “We might have agreed that the winner got to choose the task, but I’m already telling you, there is absolutely _no way_ I am doing _that_.”

“I wasn’t going to suggest that one,” Ren said. “And I’m not cutting you, either.”

They looked over the list. It seemed unfair that they were now presented with three options, as though they finally had some degree of movement in their choices… as though there _could_ be a third option. But all of the options were awful. At least that remained reasonably consistent.

_#1: Subject A must create an incision on Subject B’s body of at least 100mm in length and 8mm depth._ _  
#2: Subject B must stimulate Subject A point of ejaculation through anal sex while Subject A is wearing women’s lingerie.  
_ _#3 Subject B must stimulate Subject A to the point of ejaculation through anal sex while strangling Subject A._

Ren blinked. “I’m still not cutting you,” he said. “Which is what I was planning on choosing to opt for with my chess victory anyway. So you get to choose between the other two.”

Akechi closed his mouth, looking upset. “I don’t want to do either of those,” he said slowly. “After tonight’s task, I think something occurred to me, and—”

“What?” It was weird how he’d somehow distracted himself away from the topic.

He looked distinctly uncomfortable as he spoke. “Um… how _much_ experience have you had with any of this stuff?” he asked.

Somehow, in typical Akechi fashion, he’d managed to make the entire situation even more awkward.

“Um… I’ve _done stuff_ ,” Ren said. He could feel heat rising to his face. “And… I didn’t hate any of what happened—you were—”

Akechi sucked in his breath. “I’m… not trying to belittle you,” he said. “Or make you feel inadequate… but…” His voice faded out. “I just have a suspicion that this is one area where we are not similarly matched in terms of experience.”

He looked so apologetic and embarrassed saying it that Ren didn’t know what to say in order to sound reassuring.

“I’m… okay with this,” he said. “We’ll do the lingerie one if you like… but… if that isn’t going to work for you, I don’t mind if we do the choking one… I mean… people do this stuff all the time, right?”

“ _Have_ you done anything like that before?”

It felt like the most unwanted interrogation ever, on both their sides.

“I’ve… seen porn…” Ren muttered weakly. Though the strangulation task brought to mind something he’d seen more recently: that terrible footage of the other participants in the experiment.

“That’s not what I really was asking you,” Akechi said. “What we’re dealing with now is either the cutting activity, which you have made clear you don’t want to engage in—which I accept—” he cut himself off with—“or a potentially dangerous and uncomfortable fetish, or… humiliation.”

“Well…” Ren wasn’t sure what to say. “Are _you_ into either of those things?”

Akechi looked down at the tabletop and Ren’s hands. It seemed so far away that less than an hour ago, their hands had been entwined as Ren came, screaming into the room.

“No,” he said. “I’m actually wondering if it’s even possible for me to… adequately perform under those circumstances.”

Ren blinked. Up until now he was willing to do whatever he needed so he didn’t have to harm Akechi. The idea that possibly Akechi wouldn’t be sufficiently aroused in order to complete the tasks hadn’t seriously occurred to him.

“I thought… everyone had some kink or another,” he said. “I thought the choking thing and cross dressing was… fairly ordinary.”

“Neither do anything for me,” Akechi admitted. “Which leaves us with a problem: what happens when we have the same thing occurring as what happened with the cutting task? Only instead of one of us having a wound, both of us have a potentially awful experience with… sexual activities?”

“I’ll just do the cross dressing one, then,” Ren said. “It won’t be too bad… I mean… you’ve seen me wear some rather weird stuff before, haven’t you?” He chuckled nervously.

“It’s not about you any more, it’s about me. I… don’t like seeing someone humiliated like that, I suppose.” He shook his head. “I suppose I’m being silly,” he said.

“Could you… just close your eyes or something?” Ren asked. “If I’m not humiliated, then you’re not really engaging in humiliation, right?” It was a tentative, hopeful answer.

Akechi looked thoughtful for a bit and sipped his coffee. “Okay,” he finally said, “If you insist.”

He watched as Ren grabbed the tablet and made the selection, but the look of ill-ease hadn’t entirely left his face.


	10. Day Eight: 61 pts

“Are you still awake, Ren?”

“Yes.”

Somehow the bathroom light was still on, casting a soft glow through to the carpeted area in the bedroom. Ren expected Akechi to make a snarky comment about how he was on the side of the bed closer to the bathroom and should go and turn it off, and was surprised when he didn’t. But then again, him actually initiating discussion when they were lying in bed was surprising to begin with.

He felt weirdly awake now. He was exhausted after the day's events, but now the chance for sleep had arrived, it seemed to evade him. Again, dozens of questions danced around in his head, and the breakfast table discussion was still on his mind.

“What do you think will happen when we get out of here?” Akechi asked.

It was unusual for him to ask something like that. Normally he didn’t ask questions, he responded to them with some sort of observation, coolly remaining quiet if he didn’t have anything to contribute to the discussion.

“I don’t know,” Ren said. “Maybe they’ll just knock us out and put us on a bus and we’ll wake up at the airport or something.” He hadn’t given it a lot of consideration.

“I was actually thinking about _after_ that,” Akechi said nervously. His voice had softened to something barely above a whisper, and he shifted a little bit closer towards the centre of the bed. Ren pretended to not notice.

“I selected that I wanted to be returned closer to home,” he said. “Which I think means Tokyo right now.”

“Mmmm.” Akechi sounded thoughtful. “I wonder if we’ll be released together or if they’ll try to separate us?”

Ren hadn’t really thought about that, either. He’d been trying to work out how to deal with explaining the vacation, in the most family friendly terms, to all his friends. To explain an absence of souvenirs brought back as gifts and the lack of a suntan. He no longer wanted to spend _any_ longer than he needed to in Okinaw; the appeal of seeing the actual beachside scenery had diminished with that window screen staring at him every day. He'd seen enough beach for a lifetime.

“I hope we go together,” he said. And the he hoped that hadn’t sounded too clingy or desperate. It seemed like a brutal irony that perhaps at one point, his interest in Akechi had been reciprocated and was now whittled into what felt like a one-sided crush on his senpai. And Akechi was so dutifully trying to look after him, to put him at ease throughout this whole mess, and Ren felt like a petulant child, a part of him still wanting what he couldn’t have.

“So do I.” Underneath the covers, he felt Akechi’s hand find his own, and clutch it. He gently squeezed it back in response.

They lay in relative silence, Ren still holding onto Akechi’s hand. It felt warm and slight; bony, in a way, delicate, in a way that Ren hadn’t expected. He’d been so used to seeing those hands obscured by black leather gloves, that actually touching him like this felt weirdly intimate.

“I’m… sorry about the task thing,” Ren said quietly.

Akechi just sighed quietly to himself.

“I… didn’t really consider how much pressure was put onto you.”

“I appreciate that you’re taking it into consideration now.” He spoke uneasily, but hadn't let go of his hand under the sheets.

“I… kind of got the idea that you were doing all right with the tasks,” Ren admitted. “I mean, you were so…” So _what_? Considerate? _Good at them_? He didn’t know how to say it without sounding perverted.

“Just like you were with the blood one,” Akechi said. “I couldn’t have done that; you remained calm under pressure and were very attentive to my needs.”

“I fucked up the next one, though, didn’t I?”

“And I pushed you into that. It wasn’t fair.” Still holding his hand, Akechi turned over onto his side. It felt again, almost close to an apology, but Ren wasn’t going to push it.

“I just hope that means you’ll forgive me if anything goes south with any of the next ones where I’m supposed to _inflict things on you_.”

Ren felt uncomfortable. “You… were very good at making me comfortable even if you didn’t enjoy what you were doing,” he said. “You… thought about stuff that wouldn’t have occurred to me, like the kettle thing. I mean… I… had no idea about that gag thing. And… tonight’s one—” How to explain how he’d felt about that?—“you probably didn’t need to give me an actual massage, but—”

“It was practical,” Akechi said tightly. “If you were tense, I could have hurt you which would have likely prolonged the experience or resulted in us failing it. If you didn’t have the option to resist with the gag one, I could have killed you…”

It seemed wildly melodramatic, but Ren didn’t want to argue with him.

“Even if you’d agreed to the choking one, I’d have trusted you, though. After what’s happened so far.”

He felt Akechi tense up next to him.

“It’s… not that simple,” he muttered. “Things can go wrong. You think you can deal with something, and then you realise at the worst possible point that you can’t.” He paused. “Have _you_ ever been strangled?”

“No,” Ren admitted.

“It feels like you’re drowning. You panic. It’s ugly. You think you’re going to die, and the only person who can possibly save you is so focussed on what _they’re_ getting from the experience, that your discomfort doesn’t really occur to them. You’re at someone’s mercy.” He cut himself off.

Ren, not knowing what to say, just squeezed his hand tighter. The revelation was horrifyingly suggestive.

“Was your ex—the finance guy—” Was that a note of bitterness in his voice? He hoped not—“into that sort of stuff?”

“ _No_. He was what you’d call rather vanilla and straight-laced about sex.” Akechi sniffed haughtily. “And anyway, that isn’t really any of your business.”

“Sorry.”

“I was just indicating that to make it abundantly clear that he was in no way abusive or harmful, and we parted on friendly terms.” Another pause. “I wouldn’t be surprised if I find myself with a wedding invitation, to be honest.”

“Oh.” He’d sounded so indifferent about it all, and Ren wasn’t sure what to say.

And then, curiously, Akechi asked him a question.

“I… know I mentioned it before,” he said uneasily, “But… _did_ anything happen to you in the interrogation room before …you outsmarted me?”

Ren was taken aback. It was the first time he’d brought it up on his own accord.

“Nothing I didn’t tell you about,” he said. “It… wasn’t _fun_... I was actually a bit weird about needles for awhile afterwards though thankfully Dr. Takemi had finished most of her tests on me by then and—” He cut himself off. “I thought I was going to die in there. I thought at one stage they’d actually broken my cheek bone and dislocated my shoulder. They… threatened to do a lot worse.” He thought about the realistic-sounding threat one of the officers had made to permanently disable him, and when the man had stepped down, hard, on his thigh. It had felt like a miracle that the bone hadn’t snapped in half.

Even as he stumbled into LeBlanc with Sae afterwards, he was amazed that he’d gotten out in one piece.

“No one tried to strangle me though, if that’s what you were suggesting.”

“Oh,” Akechi murmured. “Good.” The way he’d said it suggested he was going to add something, but he fell back into silence, his body relaxing somewhat. And then he spoke.

“I can’t say I’ve been so lucky.”

A jolt raced through Ren, then, something angry and ugly and geared for action. His mind went to the logical enemy, and he felt his body tense involuntarily, his hand coiling into something close to a fist. “ _Shido_ —”

“No—it wasn’t Shido.” Akechi’s voice had grown quieter, but calmer.

“Was it a criminal?” He _had_ been involved with police investigations. It made sense. “Was it during an arrest or something--?”

“No—I was rarely involved with arrests of suspects. My work was primarily in the investigations stage—”

“Who _was_ it?” Ren’s voice had risen to something angry and defensive. Why hadn’t Akechi said something when they were working together? They could have gone down into Mementos and—

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it _does_ ,” Ren hissed. “If someone’s out there doing these things to people and— like you said, _people can die from this_ —”

“While I appreciate the concern and find it quite touching, he’s hardly of concern to me any more.”

“That’s _nice_ ,” said Ren through gritted teeth. _Sure, Akechi, downplay someone assaulting you. No big deal._ “But what if the next person isn’t so lucky?”

“I assure you there won’t be a next person—”

Suddenly it occurred to Ren what had probably happened, and they spoke at the same time.

“You went to Mementos and stole his heart and—”

“He’s dead.”

“ _Oh_.” Ren flinched back. He hadn’t entirely forgotten about Akechi’s actions in Mementos, about who exactly he’d been involved with prior to all this, but they’d also never really discussed his activities at that point in time, either. It wasn’t particularly something he liked to think about, especially since it was a reminder of what Akechi was capable of, as well as the harsh, cold reminder of the fact that he’d killed two of his friends’ parents. And the school principal. And… who knew how many others.

Akechi sighed quietly. “He was a moderately successful hedge fund manager who was a good friend of Shido’s,” he continued. “His death wasn’t particularly newsworthy, just a fifty-something year old man having a heart attack, presumably after over-indulging in too many vices,” he continued. So casually and effortlessly.

Ren wasn’t sure what to think about that. On one hand—he was Akechi. Smart, funny, quick-witted, charming, enjoyable to be around—and since his return on that Christmas Eve, caring, in his own strange sort of way. And since _this_ , caring in a much gentler, more careful sort of way.

On another hand, he was a killer.

Even though he’d tried to make amends, and Ren was pretty sure he didn’t do any of that any _more_ , he’d spent enough of his life efficiently and coldly assassinating people in the Metaverse or torturing their souls into madness. While he’d owned up to it—and not been believed by the authorities—and while he appeared to be mindful of the grief he’d caused Futaba and Haru—he didn’t seem particularly apologetic about any of it. Nor did he sound remorseful right now, either, just stating the cool, simple facts of the matter, like he was talking about a dog he’d seen in Tokyo square or asking what time a movie was showing at the cinema.

It was one of the sources of Ren’s inner turmoil about him. Accepting Akechi on some deep level, admitting that he _liked_ him, meant somehow accepting that side of him, too. The side that Ann had said was damaged and broken and worrying, that Makoto had said wasn’t actually his fault and explained a lot, the side that Futaba and Haru pretended no one was talking about when the rest of them got to discussing him which usually reverted to them trying to psychoanalyse the guy.

He’d never really worked out how to resolve it. Like the shadows in Mementos they’d fought and fixed, he was (probably) no longer a threat. And he’d tried taking responsibility for his behaviour. Ren thought about the homeless man by the station: _he_ was always friendly, and Ren had no problem with him, even though _he’d_ been doing the same sort of things as Akechi, but for longer, and in the real world. Was there a point where some human beings, even if they adjusted their behaviour, even if they apologised and owned up to it and never hurt a living soul again—just went so far beyond the moral event horizon that they became permanently untrustworthy? Why did he stop and chat to the hobo after his change of heart, when he still felt apprehensive about Akechi on some level? Was that even _fair_?

He looked at Akechi lying next to him, the grey light reflecting off his soft, coppery hair, his lanky body partially wrapped up in bed sheets. He wasn’t harmless. He definitely wasn’t _normal_ , normal people usually had some sort of terror about killing other people and usually had a lot of guilt attached to it. Akechi… did not. Yet Ren also had the sense—which Akechi had called him stupid and suicidally reckless for— that he was no longer any kind of threat. He’d… just killed people. And was at peace with his actions, apparently.

For a long time, Ren lay there, lost in thought, unsure what to say. Then one question occurred to him.

“ _Why_ was he trying to strangle you?”

“It doesn’t matter, and I was merely using this as an example of the fact that we’re being asked to do something inherently dangerous and unpleasant… and which I strongly suspect I wouldn’t be _able_ to do to you.”

Ren wasn’t going to push the matter any further. At least they’d decided upon the task, anyway—whatever came afterwards was an entirely different story, though—and relaxed under the sheets.

His head was a mass of questions again, and memories that replayed themselves over and over in his mind. Akechi’s cool, logical rejection. His hands running over tense muscles. And that tiny, uncharacteristically, needlessly _sweet_ kiss against his ear just after they’d completed the task.

And now, Akechi was going to be doing something with him that he’d never experienced before. He mentally high-fived himself for _not_ revealing that he hadn’t had _actual_ sex with anyone else—it made him feel uneasy and childish to even consider having that conversation when Akechi appeared to have vast amounts of experience in that area. More than anything, there was still some thread of competition that ran between them, connecting them as much as their other shared traits and interests and experiences did: admitting that to him felt like _losing_. And for once, it was nice to _not_ have to be the “leader,” to let someone else pick up the slack on that front… even though it was sort of embarrassing admitting it.

  
Then there was what Akechi had said about how choking and humiliation weren’t his kinks… so what _were_ his kinks? That little titbit of undiscovered information was fascinating to Ren, and he wondered if they’d already done something he was into, and he’d been completely unaware. He didn’t seem particularly aggressively enthused by the gag task, or the hand jobs—the _other_ oral sex one perhaps—but Ren was curious. He suspected if he asked, however, Akechi would turn the focus of the discussion back around, revealing little about himself—or getting annoyed—and Ren would be put in an uncomfortable position. And anyway, what if he was into something particularly weird or disgusting or awful? He’d seemed to know what that electricity wand _thing_ was, though he’d seemed unimpressed and indifferent about it.

They’d talked more than they ever had, properly, about the _serious_ things, and yet it still felt like there was so much Ren didn’t know about him. And sure, he’d warned him about that this morning, too—but the more Ren thought about it, the more he realised he wanted to change that.

He already knew the worst things about him that anyone could know. And he was still intrigued, and that rejection—the total shutdown—had hurt.

They had three more days after this. Some unfair, horrible part of him wanted to enjoy what was left of it.

The silence between them had been broken; he realised that while his mind was occupied, mulling over everything that had happened, Akechi had actually fallen asleep and was very quietly snoring to himself.

Turning slightly, trying to make himself comfortable without letting go of his hand, and without disturbing him, Ren closed his eyes. Sleep found him faster than it should have.

He was surprised that he woke up in a tangle of heavy warmth. That had happened _once_ in his life: when Morgana had unexpectedly become human and presumably fallen asleep as a cat, waking up in the same bed he always slept in—but now bigger and in human form, with arms and legs that moved differently and were draped over him.

That was awkward. They’d pulled away from one another, a little bit freaked out. At the time, Ren hadn’t even recognised him as Morgana, either, and it was mildly terrifying having a stranger in his bed with limbs draped over him.

Now… it kind of felt nice.

At some point while they were asleep, he assumed, Akechi had rolled over, shifting himself around, and thrown an arm over him… or pulled him against him, curling into his warmth.

It was… unexpected. On one hand, Akechi had rejected him—carefully, of course, seemingly not even want to hurt him emotionally—and after last night’s task, this had happened.

He didn’t know what to think any more. The only thing he was acutely aware of, which was frustrating—another example of the universe’s terrible timing—he needed to use the bathroom.

Carefully slipping out from underneath his grip, and gently placing the covers back over him, Ren quietly padded through to the bathroom, switching the light off as he stepped in in the greying artificial morning light. Washing his hands, he stared at himself in the mirror. He looked like hell. Probably not as bad as he’d looked yesterday morning, nonetheless it was hardly conducive to what was planned for this evening.

He considered telling Akechi that he hadn’t actually _had_ sex with anyone else. But then he thought about the reaction: Akechi would likely freak out, in that weird sense of honour and justice he had, and would somehow trick him into cutting him instead. He frowned at his haggard appearance. _Not_ saying anything—and like Akechi had said of _finance fuck_ , it wasn’t any of his business, anyway— he could get through it, especially if Akechi was every bit as gentle and concerned about him as he had been so far.

It wasn’t _lying_. It was just an omission of the truth, something they’d both engaged in when dealing with one another. Akechi probably suspected as much, and anyway, _he’d_ kept his own secrets. Why the hell _was_ someone trying to strangle him, anyway? Maybe he could understand if one of Shido’s goons got annoyed with him, Shido in an act of violence and rage as he spun out of control, some jealous student or obsessed fan or hater –but— _a hedge fund manager_? In his _fifties_?

A hideous thought occurred to him then, and he felt like an idiot for not having considered it earlier. The earlier revelation had felt so typically Akechi, to give Ren part of a clue, enough of a story to chase it out in his mind to the logical solution. Like when they were playing pool and he’d made those comments about collateral damage. Like when they were playing Gun About in the arcade. Like—

_Fuck_. Was _that_ what this was? Was that why he was so careful and guarded about things? It probably explained his experience, to some degree, too, and why Akechi had been so reluctant to do anything to Ren he believed was unwanted. Ren didn’t want to hurt anyone unjustly… Akechi didn’t want to, what had he said—“be a rapist”?

 _Fuck_. Akechi’s words reverberated in his mind. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Anger had replaced the shock. Anger at that stranger—and Ren was starting to wonder if it was _just_ that man—and at least he was dead now—and anger at himself for being too fucking stupid to have not even considered it.

And then there was something else that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. A sense that Akechi had underestimated him, and it hurt. Did he _really_ think so little of him that a revelation like that would disgust Ren? He wished he was around someone who had some sort of understanding of this stuff.

Maybe Ann, with her own experiences and those of her best friend, had picked up on some vibe, some subtle indicator that the rest of them had completely missed. Maybe that explained some of her sympathy towards him: she’d twigged that something was going on with him? He couldn’t talk to them about it, though, and he knew Akechi didn’t want to talk to _anyone_ about _any_ of the times he’d been vulnerable and victimised.

He’d been nervous but a bit excited about tonight’s task. It was hardly conventional—or in any way romantic, but the idea of his—god, he was being sappy—first time being at least with someone who seemed to care about him—and whom he genuinely liked—was nice. That had dissipated as he considered what Akechi had told him. He’d said he wasn’t into humiliation, either. Just… what _had_ he experienced?

He sucked in his breath, the guilt and horror and rage still churning inside him. Akechi still seemed to be asleep when he made his way back into the bedroom area—for a split second, he considered grabbing the tablet and changing the task to the cutting one. Ironically, doing the same thing that had resulted in them facing the exact same task last time.

But it wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t a solution: they still had three more days after this, and the two sex tasks would remain on the board, and the injury ones would escalate. What came in line after cutting a sizeable wound into someone, anyway? Making an even deeper, more worrying cut? Piercing something? And what after _that_? Maybe the tasks being offered here didn’t have to be _lethal_ , but the researchers hadn’t said anything about permanent disfigurement, had they? If he was already that uneasy about cutting Akechi, how the hell could he consider doing anything _worse_ to him?

They weren’t even at the eighty points which seemed to have stumped the occupants of Room Number 5, either. And most likely, they’d only moved beyond that roadblock when someone had _died_.

Guiltily, he slipped back into bed, willing himself to get some more sleep, deliberately avoiding making contact with Akechi. When the television screen pinged and alerted them to breakfast, he knew what he was going to do: propose they changed tasks.

“I think we should change the task.” He hadn’t meant it to sound so blunt and demanding, but he didn’t really know how else to address the issue.

“Oh?” Opening his cloche and looking relieved to be staring at a bowl of warm, nutritious-looking porridge accompanied by a fruit compote, Akechi glanced back at Ren. “What makes you say that?”

“The discussion we had last night.”

“I said I wasn’t choking you, though?”

Ren watched as he spooned some blueberries onto the milky cereal. “I… feel like you’re not entirely okay with either of them, though?”

Looking up at him, he sounded casual and calm. “I’m not comfortable with _any_ of this,” he said, “And I am concerned that if we complete the task you proposed, the choking one will be left there anyway. And I pointedly _refuse_ to do that to you.”

Ren nodded. He recalled assuming naively that sex was going to be at eighty or ninety points. Not only had it appeared on the list much earlier, but it came with nastier qualifiers that made it even worse.

“I know. And I’m not asking you to.” He inhaled, considering his words, glancing at the steaming porridge in front of him. Porridge was meant to be a wholesome comfort food. The _irony_.

“So you’d prefer to go back to cutting me?”

“I feel like that’s what you want me to do, and we’ve based our last choices around what _I_ wanted to do, so it’s only fair that you get a break.”

“Well… the bruising on my arm has gone away, perhaps we can try again there if you like?” He sounded so godamned calm about it, and the thought of slicing into his _arm_ this time made Ren feel sick. The hesitation at the thought rang through in his voice. “You _did_ win the chess game, though.”

“How’s your leg?” he asked.

“Healing up quite nicely, actually.” Akechi shrugged.

“Is… it going to be a problem if we were to continue with the task we selected?” He hadn’t considered _that_ , either, that if bodily fluids or sweat or bacteria got into the bandage, perhaps that could lead to issues down the track. Or if it rubbed up against him, or—

“It hasn’t been a problem so far, has it? It’s like both of us were barely aware of it.”

“Does it _hurt_?”

“Not really.” He sniffed. “You really made a big deal over nothing…” He cut himself off—“But I realise that the act of doing it was confronting.”

“Is that how you feel about us doing the task we selected for tonight?”

Akechi ate a mouthful of blueberries and porridge. “No. I’ve resigned myself to the task and believe we can get through it… though assuming the strangulation option remains there—or if it doesn’t and things actually escalate further for the next task, it’s probably the last one on that tier that we can reasonably attempt.”

Ren made a noise of agreement, driving his spoon into the bowl of oats. “That’s—very... fair... of you.”

“I thought so, too. And it gives you time to mentally prepare for having to cut me… something I didn’t afford you last time.”

Ren nodded. Again, there was so much he wanted to say and ask, but he no longer knew how to. Once again, Akechi had thought several steps ahead, and come up with a solution which was logically sound. But he paused between mouthfuls of fruit and porridge. “ _You’re_ not getting cold feet about the task, are you?”

“Not at all,” Ren said. “I was just worried that—” and however he thought of wording it, it sounded stupid and potentially incendiary, so he silenced himself with another mouthful of porridge and let Akechi continue his breakfast in silence.

“So, should we play a game of chess?”

It was late afternoon and they hadn’t spoken much beyond casual observations, killing their time with mundane tasks, tidying the room, doing their own activities on their devices, and existing in an apprehensive sort of state.

It was strange; Ren was growing comfortable with Akechi’s company and the shared silence; it didn’t feel oppressive and stagnant any more, despite the chasm of secrets that existed between them, it almost felt like a mutual understanding; there was an odd cosiness to it despite the external pressure.

“Sure.” He plugged his phone back in to charge and headed over to the table. “Though… after this morning’s discussion, we probably don’t have anything to play for.”

“We could always play for something intangible,” Akechi suggested. Was that a hint of something devilish in his voice?

“Like… what?”

“Good question.”

“Hmmm…” Watching as Ren set up the board, Akechi looked deep in thought. “I actually like the idea of there being an external motivating factor. That way I know you’re giving it your all and not just trying to flatter me.”

“You said you were the superior player,” Ren pointed out.

“Yes, but—” He stopped. “It’s easy to get careless and complacent if there isn’t some sort of motivation.”

“You never said this in the real world.”

“No, but in here it’s different, isn’t it? Here, we could endlessly play chess and get tired of it and stop caring.”

 _And I want to keep caring_ , Ren heard somewhere in that.

“How about—” Akechi suggested—“The winner gets to ask something of the loser?” He raised an eyebrow. Ren felt a strange tension run through him. This could be potentially dangerous. Of course, if either of them lost, they could refuse, right, but that didn’t really seem to align with either of their codes.

“What _sort_ of something?” He couldn’t help the suspicion. They were friends, in a way. They trusted one another, in a way. But Ren knew Akechi always seemed to have something up his sleeve and think several moves ahead. It was one reason he was such a good opponent in chess. And just about everything else.

“Let’s say I win… my reward is getting to ask you about something I otherwise wouldn’t ask you. Does that seem fair?”

 _No_ , Ren thought. But the temptation sat there. There were far too many things he _did_ want to ask him, but had suspected would result in a less than favourable response, and only more problems and discord between them.

“Why not just ask me like a normal person would?”

“Because it’s more _fun_ this way.” He chuckled to himself, staring over the board. “Since you won the last game, I suppose you get to choose which side you take.”

“Since I’m such a good friend, I’ll relinquish that decision to you.”

Akechi chuckled again. “That’s an interesting take on free choice, isn’t it? It reminds me of how you’ve handled the situation in here: defect to me. Let me make the decisions.”

He supposed he had a _point_ , but in a way that touched a nerve. And it probably wasn’t even meant offensively; he’d just sparked Akechi’s naturally competitive spirit and that was how he responded.

“Maybe,” he said coolly. “But I get the distinct impression that you _like_ that.”

“In that case, I’ll take black,” Akechi said, getting up to switch seats with Ren. “And yes, perhaps I do. Shall we start?”

Ren just shrugged, shifting the pawn in front of his king ahead two moves. A lazy opening, really, immediately returned by Akechi moving one of his pawns down, queenside bishop. Not a common opener, but one Akechi seemed to utilise when he was playing black and in a daring mood.

“Feeling a bit confident, are we?” Ren chuckled to himself. They didn’t _usually_ talk during games, but his nerves about the outcome were palpable.

“I’m always confident.” He watched as Ren brought out one of his knights.

“I think you’d _like_ me to believe that.”

Moving one of his own knights out; Akechi studied the board and then looked up at Ren. “Are we going to _talk_ or _play_?”

“We can do both.”

“Perhaps.” He looked at Ren’s move and shifted out another pawn.

By the middlegame, both of them were staring down a board which seemed to offer clear advantages to both. Their moves had slowed, and silence had returned. Ren had lost a bishop and a few pawns, Akechi has sacrificed a knight and his queen, but it appeared that he was about to promote a pawn anyway. Somehow it felt much more serious than the earlier games they’d played, as though the stakes were higher than last time.

 _Friendly competition, my ass_ , Ren thought, leaning into his hands, elbows on the tabletop, staring down several potentially disastrous outcomes.

“Stuck, are we?” Akechi seemed smug, but Ren wondered how much of that was merely hubris.

“Hey, you lost yesterday. After two stalemates.”

“I threw that game.”

Ren felt electrified out of his hazy consideration.

“Why?!”

“Maybe if you win, you can ask me.”

He wanted to laugh. But he also wanted to _win_ , because he was certain Akechi was going to ask him about things he didn’t want to talk about.

“Maybe I’ll ask for another massage instead.”

Watching the redness appear in Akechi’s cheeks was highly amusing. Watching him open his mouth and then close it, before angrily moving his remaining knight out of harm’s way, he forced himself to say nothing, wondering if he’d gotten far enough under Akechi’s skin to destabilise him. Of _course_ he wanted to dictate the flow of questioning: it was a calculated move on his part. But… why was he always so hellbent on doing that, anyway?

 _Control_. Thinking ahead and planning for possible outcomes, redirecting attention to other areas—Ren had spent the last few days watching him do it in conversation and then on the chess board. Of course, if he made Ren curious about throwing a game of chess, Ren wouldn’t ask him about something more personal. Had the massage comment been fair? Maybe not, but they hadn’t agreed they _couldn’t_ ask for physical things either, and he was starting to suspect that perhaps Akechi would be more inclined to give him a massage than answer certain questions.

He gingerly picked up another piece, worried that he’d missed something. It wasn’t an orderly game; black was spread out all over the place, and the middle four squares, the axis of power, the point you wanted to control, were seemingly avoided by both of them, like the figurative elephant in the room. He’d lost a couple of his pieces because he was being petty and reactionary. But so, too, had Akechi, he thought, removing a black rook from the board, placing his bishop where it had stood.

The game continued like this, in silence, for another forty five minutes, ending with a win Ren hadn’t entirely expected. He eyed Akechi suspiciously. “You didn’t throw _that_ one, too, did you?” he asked.

“Is this you claiming the spoils of your victory?” It was maddening that he could still sound so smug and calm. Even though he’d made a few clearly stupid mistakes, even though he was usually good enough at knowing how Ren’s mind worked and where his focus would be.

“Nope.” Ren chuckled. “Good game.”

Akechi shook his hand nervously. Something had shifted between them; Ren was starting to believe that he’d been trying to fight just as hard as he had to win, that the idea of being asked _anything_ was a route he didn’t want to go down, either.

His win, mostly motivated by the desire to _not_ have to tell Akechi about his lack of experience, came with the added bonus of being able to ask _him_ anything he wanted. The problem was, there were so many questions he had, and now that he had the opportunity to ask them, a few felt uncomfortably intrusive. Stealing a corrupt heart by force was one thing—stealing someone’s truth when it didn’t really serve any wider goal than his own curiousity was unfair.

And even if Akechi didn’t always play fair… he had some sort of honour code that he didn’t want to breach.

Akechi looked down at the board, where his king was trapped in a far corner, and then back at Ren. “So what do you want to ask me?” he asked. “ _Would_ you like a massage?”

He felt a stirring of something run through him, and desperately wanted to say yes. But somehow, _that_ felt unfair, too, physical activity _hadn’t_ been entirely agreed upon at the start.

“Let’s have a coffee,” he said. Akechi stepped over to the kettle and switched it on, while Ren remained at the table.

“So…?” Akechi was spooning instant coffee into their respective mugs. “Your question?”

“I’m… thinking.”

_Why was one of Shido’s friends strangling you?_

_How many people did you kill in the Metaverse? Did any of them truly deserve it?_

_How come you seem to know so much about all this sex stuff when you only mentioned one partner who seemed fairly vanilla?_

_Why did you throw that chess game—no, that’s what you_ want _me to ask_ —

The kettle whistled, announcing freshly-boiled water, and Akechi filled their cups and carried them over to the table.

“Well?” He sat down. Despite the curious, smug look on his face, Ren could sense some nervousness.

“Fine,” he said—“Thanks for the coffee.”

Akechi offered a little smile then, and Ren sipped from his mug—it really wasn’t terrible, but he still remembered how LeBlanc coffee tasted and in comparison this was _awful_ —

“Last night when we were talking—”

He watched him carefully to gage his reaction. The colour had drained out of his face, which had gone still, frozen into a serene sort of calm that Ren recalled from the days he was a major celebrity. He was, if he was guessing correctly, terrified. And that… made asking a lot of those questions unfair.

But the smugness, the desperation to be asked something quickly, was grating, and Ren wasn’t going to throw away likely the one chance he had to satisfy his curiousity. He could get personal. Just not _too_ personal or too close to anything traumatic, he supposed.

“You said you weren’t into choking—which makes perfect sense—or humiliation, which is actually a bit of a shock since you seemed to _love_ winning against me at… everything.” He smirked.

“I was always a humble winner.”

“You relished being able to be one,” Ren said. He was smirking. He sipped his coffee again. “So—” he said—“What _are_ you into then? You seem to have more experience than I do, something you have alluded to a couple of times—what does everyone’s favourite detective prince like getting up to in his free time?”

“Well, I enjoy eating new trendy foods at popular cafes and I go bike riding and hiking when the weather and my schedule permits and—” It was unnerving how easily he’d reverted to his charming, camera-friendly persona.

“You _know_ what I mean.”

Ren didn’t know if he was expecting a proper answer, still, watching him squirm slightly was interesting.

“Okay—” He flexed his hands, lacing his fingers together and cracking his knuckles. “I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that before. Dare I ask why you did, when you could have asked me so many other things I probably won’t tell you?”

“Because I’m curious, and I didn’t want to piss you off before tonight’s task.”

“Fair enough.” His eyes widened. “You’re not asking me in the hope you can somehow make the tasks more suitable to my tastes, are you?”

“I don’t think there’s really much leeway for that, is there?” Ren was reminded of what he was expected to do. “I’m just curious.”

“Very well…” Akechi trailed off thoughtfully. “I suppose I like knowing I’m making someone feel good,” he said.

“I wasn’t expecting a G-rated answer—”

“No—” He paused. “You weren’t. But I suppose I find _that_ arousing. Unrestrained base level responses. Knowing that something I have done has pushed someone beyond the bounds of reason or polite restraint. Indicators of a physical reaction that are beyond flattery or lip service.”

Ren nodded. It was a weirdly chaste-sounding response, but it actually seemed to fit.

“So, like a call to chaos but with orgasmic pleasure instead?”

Akechi stared at him incredulously and a small laugh escaped him. “I suppose that’s _one_ way of putting it.”

Ren felt his heart racing. It explained more than he’d thought it did, in a way, and it gave him a terrible sense of new found hope that he really wished hadn’t appeared.

“So some part of you enjoyed the tasks because I was getting off?”

The reddish tinge had returned to his face. “I guess you could say that. But—” He looked nervous again. “I didn’t _expect_ you to enjoy the tasks, though you needed to on some level in order for us to pass them. Something you appear to have done well enough at.”

“So—that’s your kink, is it?” Ren looked unimpressed. “That’s all it takes to keep you happy?”

_God. I could indulge him in that._

“There may be a few other… things…”

Ren raised an eyebrow, challenging. “So? Spill.” _I could have asked you far worse and more personal things_.

“It satisfies me to figure out what people like.”

Ren sat there, unimpressed. He was _so_ coolly reacting to this, not really giving anything away.

“So what do you think you figured out about _me_ , then?”

Raising an eyebrow, and staring right at him, as though locked into a challenge now, Akechi spoke almost indifferently and calmly. Like Ren was some kind of _test subject_.

“You appear to have a submissive side and a praise kink. Also, your ears seem to be an erogenous zone,” he said coolly. “I wouldn’t really be that surprised if you haven’t fully explored the full extent of what you like.” He sipped his coffee, still watching Ren’s face, amusement coming into his voice. “I _am_ correct in my assumptions, aren’t I?”

Ren nearly spat out his mouthful of coffee. He… wasn’t entirely sure about that assessment, and yet again, it felt like Akechi had shifted the conversation around and made him the focal point.

Those brown eyes bored into him: _Not so talkative now, are you_?

“Shall I continue?”

Ren just stared back at him. His eye for details was… disarming and kind of freakish. But absurdly useful in this situation in a way.

“Let’s play another game of chess.”

Another two stalemates later, and a shaken-upon draw, dinner was approaching. They’d tired of chess, and Ren was privately relieved. He didn’t feel as though he’d actually _lost_ , but had almost _won_ in averting the possibility of an actual loss, which he knew would result in being probed with questions he didn’t want to answer. Akechi was merciless enough when _being_ questioned; Ren didn’t want to think about what he’d do if he held onto _that_ power.

An awful, stagnant sort of tension had filled the room again. One they couldn’t really speak about, one that would only disappear for a fleeting moment in that short window of time after they’d successfully completed the task and were in that hazy glow of bliss and relief, before they saw whatever the next task was going to be.

Following an almost silent dinner (soba with umibudo and seafood, again, exquisitely prepared), Akechi wordlessly walked through to the bathroom to shower. Ren said nothing, tidying up their plates and placing them back onto the trolley.

He was nervous, Ren realised. It was like the simple act of showering before the tasks had become part of the absurd nightly ritual; time alone to clear his mind before engaging in the activity, even though it was typical for both of them to shower afterwards. He wondered if it would be different when they picked up the next activity, the seemingly agreed-upon cutting on which he hadn’t been able to complete last time. He hated himself for not looking forward to it; Akechi had tolerated them, despite being uncomfortable, and yet he couldn’t even get past a second tier one. And what were they up to now? Six of them? Tonight would take them up to seventy points. Three days after this, probably three days of doing grotesque non-medical surgical procedures. Just the thought of it alone, of ending this ghastly vacation like that, made him want to disappear.

Closing the door after wheeling the trolley in, and grabbing their piles of clothes and linen, he placed them on floor next to the bed.

He was no longer sure how he felt about this. Conflicted: under normal circumstances, having sex with Akechi probably wouldn’t have actually happened, because it seemed that Akechi, for whatever reason—decency and a desire to preserve the spiderwebs of their friendship, if not his own intimacy issues—wasn’t interested in going there. If it _had_ happened under normal circumstances, none of the pressure surrounding it, the artificial progression, the researchers’ insistence on kink inclusions that interested neither of them—wouldn’t have been involved. He felt guilty for wishing he could enjoy it, for being grateful that it at least _was_ Akechi and not someone else. The only positive thing he could take from any of this, with no guilt, was that Akechi seemed to at _least_ want their connection to remain after they got out of here.

And then there was that discussion this afternoon. He considered what Akechi had said: he wasn’t sure how close to the mark he actually _was_ , but he’d seemed so damned smug about it. _Was_ he submissive? _That_ felt kind of insulting: he was so often in a position of leadership. People looked up to him. Even adults said they learned something from him or felt supported by him.

And yet… the memory of Akechi slapping down on his hand to stop him touching himself last night, loath as he was to admit it, that had been _hot_. A bit of a shock, maybe, since Akechi was usually so careful and gentle, but he knew he’d have been lying to himself if he’d said it was a turn off.

And _that_ got him thinking: was this all part of the grand plan to twist him into some warped Hall of Mirrors reflection of who he was before he came here? Was _that_ what the study was? Ren Amamiya, the quiet, thoughtful leader who had strongly-held values and who never hurt anyone, turned into a screaming wretch who would more easily cut into a friend of his than remain caged? Maybe it would wear both of them down to the point where the only option _was_ remaining caged and they wouldn’t care, warped into strange skewed versions of themselves. Or maybe they’d be forced into a desperate dark place where they literally went mad, doing unfathomable, hideous things to one another in their pursuit of survival?

The light came on above the exchange chamber, and Ren sat on the end of the bed, glumly watching it, waiting for it to switch off so he could open the door. He hoped to do so before Akechi got out of the shower, planning to grab the _item_ of clothing and scurry into the bathroom, having a quick shower and changing before Akechi might see it, and say something, causing him to lose his nerve.

Instead, Akechi returned first.

“Still no… _clothing_?” he asked. He was drying his hair, but dark strands peeked out from between the folds of the towel, dripping water onto the floor. Again, he was wearing one of those bathrobes, typically tied around him tightly. For all the nervousness he was probably feeling, he looked reasonably at ease.

Ren just glanced up at the light as if to answer the question. He didn’t feel like talking; he just wanted this over with, he realised. Obviously it wasn’t as bad as the choking task, but he still had no idea what to say, and part of him was terrified that if he _did_ say something, expressing anything close to uncertainty, Akechi would balk and then they’d _both_ be visibly uncomfortable.

“Oh, I see they’ve returned our laundry.” He made his way over to the pile of folded clothes, picking out his items and stacking them neatly in a little pile next to his bag.

Then the light switched off.

Ren was the one to open the door. The trolley sat there, in the centre of the corridor, ominous and troubling, with an innocently cheerful-looking neon pink shopping bag on top of it. Underneath the bag was the sheet of printed instructions. It looked like some kind of ridiculous gift being presented to them, and since there was nothing else on the trolley except the bottle of lube, Ren picked up the paper, stuffed it into the bag, and walked out.

From the bedroom, Akechi watching him in silence. Not trying to intervene, seemingly realising that Ren needed to do this alone. He pretended to be refolding his shirts as Ren gave him a serious little nod and walked past, heading into the bathroom.

It was only when he got undressed and into the shower that he realised he’d been stupid enough to have not brought a bath robe in with him. No going back now, he supposed, even though the idea of wearing a bathrobe over the lingerie was actually a good one that was a bit outside the box, and might make the task easier.  
  
Then again, he thought glumly, scrubbing himself with the thick mesh sponge and a thick lather of exotic-smelling body wash—wearing the bathrobe over the lingerie might disqualify them from earning points from this.

He considered what they were being asked to do, and the fact that he didn’t have _any_ experience with what was being asked of them. And then he considered that Akechi had _no idea_ about this. Or… some idea, maybe, but probably not enough, and with how careful and weirdly gentle he was being, there was every chance he’d pull the plug on this task and they’d not only be stuck here for _another_ day, but it would be another failed task resulting in no points-- that turned out to be entirely his fault.

He’d seen enough porn to have some idea of what he needed to do, he supposed, and he remembered that Akechi had been generous with the lube during the last task, and seemed to at least have an awareness for not forcing things, as well as an understanding of why relaxation was important. _Thank god this isn’t Ryuji_ , he found himself thinking again, envisioning a frustrated and embarrassed Ryuji trying to get things over and done with far too quickly and way less gently.

He stepped out of the shower and dried himself off, finally forcing himself to look between the gently scrunched tissue paper in the shopping bag. Even this much of the task was embarrassing: he felt like someone’s mistress, gifted with what was probably going to be grotesquely tacky looking lingerie in a cheap hotel awaiting some middle-aged man whose only thrill in life was an illicit affair to walk in.

The nearly see-through, very skimpy slip was clearly designed for a woman. Obviously the researchers had been considerate enough to get the sizing right—Ren _had_ actually wondered if they would or if he’d be physically uncomfortable, _as well_ , in a teeny little thing designed for a Haru-sized person—though the cut of it, which seemed to expect smaller shoulders and the presence of breasts and hips—made him think it would look awful on him.

He slipped it over his head and shoulders. It looked… wrong. He remembered when he’d naively assumed that wearing items, as specified by the description of an earlier task, would have meant dressing up in some sort of costume, and he remembered the gag and the handcuffs and thinking, in that moment, that he would have vastly preferred to wear some silly outfit instead. Now he was, and he looked ridiculous, and hated it. The thin, too-white fabric was soft but artificial, and it stuck uncomfortably to his only-just-dried-off skin. The thin strips of silky white ribbon felt too delicate and string-like against his shoulders. The cornflower blue ruffles, probably artfully sewn in with painstaking care by a perfectionistic seamstress, looked ridiculous. And the way the odd bit of hair on his body—wiry and spidery and _wrong looking_ —threatened the soft elegance of the piece, made it comical in a terrible, awful way.

If Akechi was even able to look at him without laughing, they deserved to pass the task. If Akechi actually managed to _complete_ the task, he deserved some type of achievement award for being able to maintain an erection under the absolute worst of circumstances.   
  
He tried not looking at his reflection in the mirror, but couldn’t help it. Cross dressing didn’t particularly bother him, and when done well, the effect could be exquisite. He’d seen some beautiful drag queens in Shinjuku; and Lala at Crossroads, even though she was older and less delicate, still took care with her appearance, rendering her a level of dignity and her own sort of cultivated sense of style which was gorgeous in its own way.

This was _nothing_ like that, and Ren was starting to understand why Akechi automatically identified the task as being about humiliation.

“Ren?” He could hear a voice from the bedroom. Akechi sounded _worried_. “Are… you okay?”

“Mmmm.” He wasn’t sure, where on the scale of not-okay, he was. “I’ll be out soon.”

Akechi didn’t say anything in response to that, and Ren wondered what the hell was going through _his_ head. It reminded him of that time early on when he assumed that Akechi might be trying something suicidal in the bathroom after seeing one of the tasks. Was he just as nervous—at least not because he was wearing something so ridiculously terrible—or mildly aroused, or scared that they were going to fail and the responsibility would sit with him?

He grabbed the piece of paper out of the shopping bag, and felt thin acrylic fabric and ribbons against his fingertips. _Fuck_. There was a _thong_ included with it that he was expected to wear, too.

He lifted it out of the bag and studied it. This would barely cover most _girls’_ crotches properly, let along his. The back of the thing literally only existed of ribbon attached to the elasticized waistband, which was decorated with small bows and that carefully concertinaed blue ribbon. Somehow, having to wear this only made this even worse, but he pulled it on, trying to adjust it so it didn’t look too ridiculous, and realised there was no amount of trying that would stop that. The delicate fabric stretched unnaturally against his dick, not entirely covering it, the ruffled ribbons at the top were irritatingly itchy, and pubic hair jutted out the sides, like he was trying to smuggle a handful of spiders in there.

He wished the blind fold had been offered to them this time, even though he knew that he would have given it to Akechi, or forced him to wear it if he’d refused.

Towelling his hair dry, he slicked on some deodorant and gulped at his pitiful reflection. It would have been easier to force Akechi into choking him, instead of trying to do this.

He carefully shifted out from the bathroom. Akechi was sitting on the other side of the bed, seemingly engrossed in the blank television screen in front of him, and didn’t comment as Ren reached over towards the light switch on the wall to at least dim the glow somewhat for _some_ semblance of privacy.

As the light dulled, he couldn’t help himself.

“Feeling romantic, are we?” He turned to face Ren, who could only stare back at him with a miserable, horrified look of embarrassment.

Akechi’s eyes widened at the realisation of what he’d what he’d just done.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. He couldn’t quite look Ren in the eyes, and his expression seemed to be more one of secondhand embarrassment and concern rather than amusement. “It’s…” He truly seemed, in a very un-Akechi-like fashion, lost for words for once.

Marginally better than laughter or disgust, at least.

Slinking over to the bed, where he noticed the bottle of lube sitting on the other side of Akechi, Ren now didn’t just feel self-conscious, the realisation that this was going to be his super memorable first time now resurfaced. Ever cell in his body was frozen, clenched in a sort of high alert terror.

“How should I… be on here?” he asked nervously. He hated the way this was so staged, that they didn’t just have what he supposed was a normal, spontaneous sort of relationship where they just naturally fell into positions which worked for them. He hated that there were cameras watching this, far worse than them capturing the moments of ecstasy and release, they filmed _these_ moments, the intensely uncomfortable and awkward. 

“What’s most comfortable for you?” Akechi asked. He was watching Ren carefully, as though worried he was going to flee back into the bathroom or throw up. “Are you _sure_ you are all right with this?”

Ren nodded miserably, lying on his side, his face pressed into the duvet. Like he was desperate to disappear, to not bear witness to this awfulness.

“They didn’t provide condoms, either,” Akechi said in deadpan disapproval. “I don’t suppose people who are telling us to go cutting into one another with no anaesthetic and who didn’t mention safety points about the gag would be terribly concerned about safety or health protocol, but—”

“It’s all right,” said Ren urgently. “We’ll just do this.”

“Are you _sure?_ ”

“I trust you. You said—”

Akechi made a little murmur in his throat. “ _I_ wouldn’t trust someone’s word on this,” he said.

“You said you were tested and haven’t done anything—”

“Yes, that’s true, but I could be lying.”

“But I trust that you wouldn’t do that.”

Akechi’s mouth opened slightly. Like he was about to hit back with something about how Ren was too stupid to remain alive, or hopelessly naïve, or words to that effect. Instead, he just nodded in a strange sort of determination. “Very well,” he said. He looked at Ren. “That …doesn’t appear to be very comfortable, though.”

“It isn’t.”

“How about you—slip into something more comfortable, so to speak.”

The terrible attempt at humour went right over Ren’s head, and he shifted around until he was nearly entirely face down on the mattress.

“That doesn’t look particularly comfortable, _either_.” Akechi looked thoughtful. “What’s your preferred position?”

It felt like such an awkward conversation already, but even more awkward was Ren realising that he wasn’t sure how to answer that, and that admitting that was going to open a whole other can of worms. He tried thinking about the last few pornos he’d seen, and then remembered wondering if even the actors in those had been comfortable _or_ able to keep it up for any length of time.

“What… do you prefer?” he asked, lifting his head slightly. “I mean, you’re the one doing most of the work here.”

Akechi sort of sniffed, and looked ready to protest, but motioned to Ren. “Lie over the edge of the bed, I guess,” he said. “That way I’m not on top of you and we can go at your pace, and—”

He shuffled around uncomfortably, dangling his legs over the side of the bed, looking off into the distance. His neck was strained from looking away; Akechi’s gentle kindness felt like _pity_ , and in this scenario, he was now fully cognisant of just why Akechi got so annoyed about being pitied. It only added to the humiliation of everything else: this godawful outfit, his inexperience, his nervousness, Akechi’s earlier observation—about him having submissive tendencies— that seemed so innocent, but now felt kind of emasculating.

“And _what_?”

“I get to see your face,” he continued quietly. “If—that’s what you want—”

“You don’t need to try and— _baby_ me,” Ren snapped back.

Looking momentarily taken aback, Akechi ignored that, and ran a hand over his chest and under the fabric of the nightgown instead, as Ren bent his neck as far away from seeing this as he could bear. Akechi shifted up alongside him on the bed, leaning against him, his damp hair brushing over the top of his arm. “If anything’s _bothering_ you, or hurts, or we need to stop—”

“I know, I know, I’ll _tell you_ ,” Ren hissed though gritted teeth. He willed his tense, treacherous body to just _hurry the fuck up_ and stop being so _like this_ so they could get it over and done with and move onto the next thing.

With at least the respite of sleep in between, and possibly some conversation, and—

He felt hands running over his check, pushing that awful, flimsy fabric out of the way, spanning over his chest. Ren didn’t exactly consider his body _that_ good—he wasn’t some sort of athlete who could flex muscles, and didn’t have that fey, delicate willowy build of someone like Yusuke, or Akechi’s slender wiriness. He felt kind of… plain and skinny a lot of the time, which made the way Akechi’s hands were spanning over him feel all the more awkward. His overall discomfort was just making him feel even more self-conscious.

“Ren—are you _sure_ you are okay with this?”

“ _Yes_.”

Akechi gave a low murmur and continued. It wasn’t that his touch felt _bad_ , it was just that in this moment, the overwhelming feeling consuming Ren was utter humiliation, and what Akechi was lavishing on him didn’t feel at all sexy and lustful—it felt like pity. Worse yet, it was a perfunctory kind of pity, not even from a place of genuine kindness, but necessity.

But in the back of his mind was a greater concern: what if they _couldn’t_ actually do this? It made the whole situation with the points worse, of course, but what would it do to _them_? He wished there was some sort of distraction they could have employed; one of those bizarre sex toys, something like that, at least. But there was nothing. Just them and this ridiculous outfit, which stood between them literally and figuratively.

He shifted his arms out the way, grateful at least that Akechi’s focus seemed to be on his torso rather than lower down, hoping like all hell that he wasn’t going to pay too much attention to the godawful thong. Then he turned, to see Akechi leaning in towards him, his mouth partially open in an expression of something between awe and restrained want, leaning in towards him. His breath was warm and sultry, and the strands of hair that pressed against Ren’s skin were damp and cool.

“You are so fucking gorgeous,” he whispered against the side of his face. “Truly, Ren, you are remarkable—”

It wasn’t the tone, or the heat of his breath, it was what felt like hollow words, meaningless crap he was feeding him in order to elicit a desired result. He’d said it earlier; _you have a praise kink_ , and some subconscious, stubborn part of Ren’s brain had kicked in.

 _No I fucking don’t_. Twisting away from Akechi, he felt deeply humiliated.

“What’s wrong?”

“This,” Ren muttered awkwardly. “All of this.”

Akechi frowned, shifting back. “You’re… so tense.”

_Of course I am fucking tense. And you’re sounding like you’re trying to placate a stubborn toddler._

Shifting around on the bed again, raising himself up onto his knees, elbows mashed into the yielding mattress, Ren avoided his eyes. “Let’s just hurry up and do this,” he muttered.

He didn’t see Akechi frown deeply, twitching with nervousness in his reaction, wondering what he’d done wrong. But he heard the compromise in his voice. “All right, then.” And then he mumbled something under his breath that Ren couldn’t understand, not that Ren even cared any more—he just wanted this over and done with.

He felt the mattress shift under him unsteadily as Akechi moved himself up the other end of the bed, grabbing the bottle of lubricant and pushing the fabric of the negligee out of the way, exposing his ass to the night air. He felt hands running over his skin appraisingly, and then heard the familiar sounds of the bottle of lubricant being opened and squirted out. Moments later, he felt slick warming fingertips gliding over his skin, pushing the thin piece of ribbon between his glutes to the side.

There was nothing at all sexy about this. It was about as enjoyable and erotic as an invasive medical examination, despite the way Akechi was trying to dress it up as a gentle, tactile moment. If Akechi had worried that he wasn’t going to be able to perform, it was nothing on how he was; he just felt miserable and exposed and ridiculous like this. He wondered if Akechi was having problems, too—he could just step back and jerk off and think of something else, though, couldn’t he? Ren shuddered at the idea, willing his entirely unaroused body to relax; he knew he needed to— if they didn’t, getting the points would be impossible and all of this would have just been a humiliating waste of time, and they’d be forced to accept the other task.

Which they were going to have to do after this anyway.

He felt fingers move over him again, pushing slightly, and then nothing. Turning around, annoyed, to see what was causing the hold-up—was Akechi going to try something else instead—he was surprised to see him wiping his hands on his bathrobe, his expression tense and worried.

“I can’t do this,” he muttered.

It was enough to make Ren sit up angrily. He hunched himself in an upright ball, knees up to his chest, feeling only _slightly_ less vulnerable. “What do you _mean_ you can’t do this?”

“I can’t do this to you. I won’t do this to you.”

“Then can I take this _shit_ off so you can _choke_ me instead?”

Akechi’s bottom lip quivered. He was standing next to the bed, but it was clear that he was shaking nervously. His huge, normally calm—or cheeky—eyes were glassed over with something distant and awful. He’d always had an expressive face; right now, he looked like he was close to breaking.

Ren _had_ seen him break before, had seen the craziness and rage come forth in Mementos, had watched him addled with his own maddening status effect. He’d seen him bitter and hotly defensive, pained and in tears, when it looked like he was about to die.

He’d seen him furious and petulant when he’d tried desperately to talk him into possibly stepping away from the edge and convince him that his life meant something.

He hadn’t seen him look like _this_ , though. It was a quiet, terrified kind of broken.

“I’m not doing that, Ren,” he said. “I told you.” He threw a towel over towards Ren, offering some semblance of dignity. “Go get changed and I’ll see if I can reselect the task so we can get the tools for the surgical one.”

Ren stared at him from where he sat.

“ _Go on_.”

“I don’t want to cut you.” _Especially not tonight, after this._

Akechi sighed quietly. “Well you’re going to _have to_ , because I can’t do this to you. I’m sorry.” He looked down at the floor.

“Why _not_?” Dozens of thoughts were collecting in his mind: Akechi had realised that he couldn’t possibly be attracted to him, Akechi was freaked out by the unflattering lingerie—a reasonable reaction, actually—Akechi had some kind of past guilt or trauma or some fucking thing that was making this weird for him, or Akechi was realising he was getting too close, and that penetrative sex was only going to bring them physically closer as well.

“Because—I can’t.”

The anger was building inside Ren. Yet again, they’d gotten so close to the task, but not quite gotten there. So much for three days left.

“How hard is it to just… do it?” Ren snapped back at him. “You don’t need to _try_ being all nice and soft and gentle, literally all you need to do is—”

“Oh, for _fuck’s sake_ , Ren.” Suddenly the gentleness and considerate rationality had dissolved, and Akechi spat back in anger. “You’re not putting all the responsibility on _me_ here. And I refuse to be admonished for not haphazardly raping you or for trying to help you relax.”

“How the fuck do you think _anyone_ could relax in—” Ren tore angrily at the side of the ridiculous negligee, the thin ribbon crossing over his left arm separating with a soft “rrippp”—“this thing?”

“So this is a _pride thing_? Get over it and think _rationally._ ”

God, he sounded so fucking condescending. And furious. He was getting that wild-eyed spiralling anger in his eyes, his voice untidily scattering. It reminded Ren of when they were in Shido’s palace, and he’d shifted from rationally cold and annoyed into being close to hysterical.

“We’re not going to get out of here if we don’t get through these tasks, and this was the benign one which both of us agreed to. And it’s _still_ safer than the other two.”

“I don’t see _you_ wearing this thing.”

“Well, _no_. That wasn’t the choice we were presented. _Some times you don’t_ get _choices, Ren_.”

He was screaming now, enraged. Ren wasn’t sure what came next—was he going to lash out physically? It was almost ridiculous, the way he was standing there in a _bathrobe_ , the image of contented vacation relaxation, but focussed and furious and _loud_ , like he was about to charge into battle.

If he was anyone else, Ren would have cowered. Or maybe advanced forward and slapped him. Instead, he remained on the bed, glaring, a stony, silent look on his face, eyes focussed on Akechi like lasers.

“Go get changed,” he snapped, still glaring at him. “You look _pathetic_.”

It took every ounce of self-control to _not_ walk over to Akechi and slap him. But Ren held onto his silence, his gaze heavy and dark, as he grabbed his pyjamas and headed through to the bathroom. Akechi had grabbed the tablet and was clicking through the options on one of the menus, presumably trying to change the task over to the cutting one.

Ren still didn’t want to do it. Even though he was furious. He was _worried,_ now, assuming that the researchers allowed them to change this late in the game, that in his state of mind—twitching and angry and humiliated—he would _not_ be able to perform the task either to the researchers’ specifications _or_ in a way that was _fair_.

And he hated himself for it. It felt like a weakness. Stepping into the bathroom, he ran a washcloth under the handbasin tap, and wiped the coating of dried lube off his skin, before tearing the negligee off and stepping out of those hideous knickers. He’d probably lose points for damaging property—he didn’t care. He changed into his pyjamas, and balled up the flimsy items into his fist, stuffing them into the damp wash cloth, and walked back through the bedroom. Opening the collection chamber door, he angrily threw them onto the trolley, and slammed the door.

Akechi was lying on his stomach on top of the bed, absently staring into the television screen, still, and silent and probably every bit as angry as he had been earlier. Unlike every other evening, the smell of coffee or tea, or the soft bubbling of boiling water from the kettle was absent; it all just felt dead and angry and depressing now.

“They won’t let us change the activity,” Akechi muttered.

 _Shit_. Ren didn’t really _want_ to, but now the very real consequence of not receiving points had started sinking in. They’d failed another task, had needlessly spent another day here, and now had this awkward and terrible experience between them. He glanced at the door of the collection chamber, almost wishing he could just go back in there, grab the lingerie, cram himself into it and just _make_ the task happen now. 

“I guess we try tomorrow?” His voice was even and cold.

“I suppose so.” Akechi didn’t sound pleased, but at least he didn’t sound like he wanted to kill him any more. Just defeated and distant.

With nothing else to say or do, and desperate for the escape of sleep, Ren crawled under the covers, burying his face in his pillows, closing his eyes. “I’m going to sleep,” he announced.

Akechi didn’t say anything, but walked over to the switch and turned the lights off. The dimmed atmosphere became moreso, with the only light in the room emanating from the television screen, displaying the menu they could no longer choose from.

_#1: Subject A must create an incision on Subject B’s body of at least 100mm in length and 8mm depth._ __  
#2: Subject B must stimulate Subject A point of ejaculation through anal sex while Subject A is wearing women’s lingerie.  
#3 Subject B must stimulate Subject A to the point of ejaculation through anal sex while strangling Subject A.

And then it powered off, shrouding the room in darkness as Akechi pulled the covers to his chin, closed his eyes, and longed for sleep.


	11. Day Nine: 61 pts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I am SO sorry I have been absent for what's felt like ages: I have so many beautiful comments to catch up on (thank you SO much, honestly, I absolutely LOVE you guys!) and I hope this somewhat lengthy chapter makes up for it all. (WE HAVE LIFT OFF, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN AND EVERYONE ELSE! :) Finally!) 
> 
> This particular chapter took ages to write anyway, and I kept getting stuck at points, and there's so much going on in there... and since we're in the closing leg of the story, this is kind of like the final turn before hitting that last straight... so there's finally some communication between these two, plus some sexy times. 
> 
> Thank you so SO SO much for sticking with me and for all your encouragement and kindness. I think I've said it before, but I was super hesitant about writing this and your encouragement and interest has honestly meant more to me than you can imagine. I hope I can finish this off in a way that is satisfying. <3 <3 <3

“Hey—”

Akechi wasn’t moving. Ren could tell he wasn’t asleep, either; there was a stiffness about him that suggested he was awake and unhappy, and Ren realised that he couldn’t sleep next to him like this.

And he wasn’t responding, either, though.

Somehow, it had been easier to talk at night, under the figurative protection of dark and sheets, where somehow you forgot about the cameras and didn’t have to see the other person react, he thought.

“Hey—”

Well, it usually was.

He was curled over on his side, his back to Ren, turned towards the window. They’d left the curtains open—what was even the _point_ of closing them when it was all fake, anyway? The blackened night sky, with a few dark grey clouds hiding a half moon, cast scant light into the room.

“Akechi?”

He still didn’t react and it was chilling.

Ren was used to him being angry, spitting insults and threats, or freezing up, still and apparently calm, sometimes a shift in his eyes suggesting that there was a storm raging under the surface. But now, he just seemed worn out and bereft and non-communicative. Was this what he was like when he hid from the world and disappeared for months without contacting anyone? Was this what happened after the failed assassination attempt, after the standoff in Shido’s palace, after Ren had returned home?

“Ak _e_ chi.”

Still no reaction.

Ren wasn’t sure what he felt: his emotions had moved through humiliation during the task, to disappointment and remorse after they’d failed, distilling down to the self-loathing which had permeated the entire evening. Now, sadness was creeping in. At least an annoyed Akechi was more _alive_ than this.

Then the guilt came in waves; this was _his_ fault, not Akechi’s. _He’d_ tried being nice about it. It wasn’t his fault that Ren felt humiliated and disgusting in that stupid lingerie _or_ apprehensive about the rest of the task. And then there was the fact that he felt corralled into the one activity he didn’t want to do, cutting into him. He’d surreptitiously glanced at his fingernails, trying to gage the depth of the cut that was required, since he started thinking about it in all seriousness again, and then he’d look at Akechi and wonder, in a sick kind of way, just _where_ he could cut him. He didn’t really have _much_ to cut that wasn’t probably attacked to nerves and muscles and vital things that could get seriously damaged, Ren suspected, and when he thought about all the blood _last_ time, he felt awful.

And then came the guilt. Why did he have to hurt someone else because he couldn’t deal with a little embarrassment?

When he thought about it like that, it all seemed so simple. But the memory of that uncomfortable material against him, the too-thin ribbons sitting over his shoulders and between his ass—at the time, _that_ was hellish in an immediate way that made performing the task seem impossible. That was the thing, really, wasn’t it? It was like the metaverse exploration: each task seemed so much worse and more impossible than the one they’d pulled though that hindsight made their anxiety about it seem silly. Worrying about escaping Kamoshida’s palace at first had been terrifying. By the time they were trying to figure out _where_ Kaneshiro’s was, that initial fear seemed laughable. And when they were trying to work out how to socially engineer their way into Shido’s private chamber, concerns about Kaneshiro looked like child’s play.

And when they took on Yaldabaoth, _all_ of that felt like nothing.

And then Maruki’s palace appeared.

He tried to reassure himself that at the time, in the moment, those things _were_ huge obstacles, seemingly impenetrable and absurdly difficult. And now this, in many ways, seemed worse, though a cynical part of him wondered that if they even reached ninety points like those people in Room Number Five, his current concerns would look like nothing, and he’d be looking back at _now,_ feeling stupid for not being able to do this.

Like he was about the cutting task. But then the memory of all the blood came back to him, the idea of Akechi plunging that measuring device into the wound, the way he’d flinched as the scalpel blade nicked him—seriously considering doing _that_ again—cutting him _again_ , and this time _worse_ than he had before—didn’t seem possible. He’d seen medical pictures before and models of skin layers: they all seemed so tidy and bloodless and interesting, while the reality was so much more visceral and so much uglier. Maybe if he’d had analgesics and a way to stop the bleeding, it would be easier. But that was what the researchers wanted, right? It was the same reason they hadn’t provided condoms or vast amounts of alcohol. They didn’t want things easier and sanitised, they wanted to see a basic level of human ugliness and horror.

“Akechi?” He almost hoped he’d spin around and snap a “ _What_?” like he had that other time, but again, nothing.

Finally, he rested a hand over his shoulder, in a way that felt reassuring, though he wasn’t sure which one of them he was reassuring. Akechi was awake and could flinch away if he didn’t want to be touched, right?—and Ren almost hoped he would because it would at least suggest he was alive and reacting to things.

When he didn’t, Ren only felt worse. He snaked his arm over one bare shoulder, and pulled himself against Akechi, feeling smooth warm skin beneath his fingertips. Evidently he’d shed the bath robe after climbing under the sheets. Ren wiggled his toes around, to realise the towelling lump at the foot of the bed was in fact the robe he’d been wearing.

Akechi didn’t move. This was chilling. There was still warmth in his skin, a pulse running underneath, but he was passive in a way Ren had never seen before in _anyone_. Was this what people looked like when they were completely _broken_? His heart raced and he felt overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness.

Akechi had been so _strong_ throughout all this, too, and that was probably the most haunting thing about seeing him like this. _He’d_ been the one trying to push them over the line with these activities, whether it was quietly encouraging Ren, or tidying up afterwards and making coffee or trying to complete the task himself, as he had with the cutting exercise. Ren felt… _weak_. He’d thrown up, freaked out, lost his nerve—Akechi had somehow held it all together until now. And now, this was the result.

A quiet sob escaped him. He felt terrible. And he was at a loss for what to do about it. If they couldn’t get past this, they couldn’t escape; they were stuck here—and it was all _his_ fault. All of this was. If only he’d just come here alone and been content with his own company.

A memory of Akechi excitedly texting him mentioning that he’d bought things specifically for the trip flashed through his head.

Another sob wracked him, and his body shuddered.

He clung to Akechi now, hopelessly, nuzzling his face into that mop of copper brown hair, inhaling that scent of expensive shampoo and something uniquely _him_ that Ren couldn’t quite pinpoint.

And then he felt a shift beneath him, half-expecting Akechi to snap at him, or slip out of bed and stalk off to the bathroom.

Instead, he felt him turning around, strong but delicate fingers loosening his grip, a hand clutching one of his, another wiping away his damp fringe.

“Ren—” His voice sounded cracked and uncomfortable. “What are you doing?”

“I’m so sorry—”

He expected a snarky comment. Or some sort of veiled insult disguised as a joke about the lingerie. Instead Akechi slid an arm under him, pulling them together, face to face, so close that they could feel each others’ breath ghosting over each other’s faces, their noses nearly touching.

Ren wasn’t sure what to think now. He felt weirdly overdressed in comparison to Akechi’s smooth nakedness, slightly uncomfortable at the arm holding him so close, and yet—

“Shhh—” It was like he’d just realised he was crying. And _that_ made him feel awkward and self-conscious too. Just how the _hell_ did he have everything all together like this? How had he gone from being rocklike and only breathing to trying to comfort him—Ren assumed that’s what this was, anyway—

“Ren—”

The softness and what sounded like genuine concern in his voice made him choke up again, sending another uncomfortable shudder through him.

And then he was aware of two sensations competing for his attention: Akechi’s mouth over his, his lips soft and yielding and gentle, one hand raking up from behind him, massaging the back of his head.

And then the _other_ thing; the slight but noticeable pressure poking at his thigh.

He was _stunned_. The tears had stopped, his heart was now racing for an entirely different reason, in a sense of frantic disbelief and wonder, trying to understand what the _hell_ was going on now. In one way, it made perfect sense; Akechi was a mass of contradictory extremes, and he’d just shifted from one to another. In other ways, it made absolutely no sense at all. He didn’t _have_ to be doing this, but here he was. And… why the hell was he aroused by this, anyway?

He pulled away from the kiss, leaving Ren shivering and confused.

“What the _fuck_?”

“I’m… sorry—” Akechi’s reply was uneasy. “I… thought that—”

“I thought you weren’t interested in me.” Suddenly the pieces fell into place in his mind. “Don’t tell me this is you trying to get me comfortable so we can try the task again—"

A strange little chuckle escaped him then. “No,” he said quietly. “I’ve already resigned myself to the fact that we’re doing the other one…”

“So—why this?”

“I—” Akechi pulled back. In the faint light, Ren could make out a worried expression on his face, his eyes wide and concerned, the corners of his mouth set in a frown.

_You …what?_

“…thought that was what you wanted. It _was_ , wasn’t it, Ren?” He sounded completely confused.

“I’m… worried about you,” Ren admitted. His face felt clammy with sweat and breath and dried tears. “And I don’t want to do the other task.”

“So what _do_ you want to do?” Akechi’s voice was growing calmer, but he now sounded irritated. “I’m _not_ choking you, and it would be unfair of you to expect me to shift on that matter. You proved earlier this evening that you aren’t up to the other task, which leaves the cutting one by process of elimination.” _The ball’s in your court_ , was the unsaid sentiment. And echoing in the back of Ren’s mind was the idea that Akechi had been right; he’d left _him_ make the decisions, and was floundering uselessly despite having the choice now.

“I… don’t know.”

“Well was there any _reason_ behind latching onto me and… _that_?” Akechi asked. “I could be mistaken but it _did_ seem _suggestive_. I don’t think that my interpretation was an unrealistic one.”

Ren felt a lump in his throat. If Akechi had just been… normal… about this—if he’d only either outright shifted away or embraced him completely, all this would have been so much easier. He considered the position they’d been in moments ago: the idea of it just automatically happening, no cameras filming them, no stupid additional props, none of the humiliation and stress about points… They’d woken up wrapped around one another this morning. Surely that _had_ to count for _something_.

He didn’t know what exactly he wanted. He wanted Akechi. He wanted Akechi to want him for reasons unrelated to these stupid tasks. He wanted to be able to support and comfort him, and he wanted to effortlessly not have to explain himself. But Akechi wasn’t like that. In a strange sort of way, he _needed_ explanation, an assurance, an understanding of what was going on. It was so fucking pedantic and hypocritical, especially since _he_ didn’t seem particularly interested in explaining anything himself.

“Was that… uncomfortable?” Fuck. He’d just about wrapped his arm around his neck, and pulled him close without really thinking about it. He felt stupid; like he’d inadvertently retraumatised him.

“Actually, it was unexpectedly nice, if we’re going to be honest.” _If we’re going to be honest_. And that was a hell of a big _if_ right now. And the way he spoke, so straight forward and calm and barely affected—it was equal parts annoying and weirdly reassuring.

“Um… good.” This was marginally better than when Akechi was just lying there like a breathing lump of nothing, but Ren could feel the heat of embarrassment reaching his cheeks once more. Why the hell was this so damned complicated and awkward?

“I’ll tell you what,” he offered. “If this is what you want, I’ll be more than happy to indulge you on one condition—”

“That I—” He couldn’t think of a borderline amusing comeback. Suddenly his mind was clouded with a seriousness—was this Akechi effectively _propositioning_ him? Because that was what it sounded like.

“That we give that task a second try,” Akechi said in a quiet voice. “You can fuck me, but tonight we return to reattempting the task we just failed.”

In the darkness, Ren blinked.

He’d sounded so casual about it, too.

“Um—” That _wasn’t_ what Ren had been thinking about. He hadn’t been sure what he’d been doing, if the gesture was to comfort Akechi, to shake him out of the fugue he seemed to be in, or if it was for his own reassurance.

“That’s what you _want_ , isn’t it?”

He didn’t know how to answer. That some part of him kind of _did_ want that but hearing it spelled out like a business transaction like this was unnerving, especially after everything that had come before. He didn’t want Akechi to just _endure_ something, especially not without any clear benefit—like the points—just for his sake, either. But he realised that what he did want was off-limits: for Akechi to just naturally want him like that, when he knew that he didn’t.

He could feel himself quivering with nervous energy, rat-like and hyper aware of everything around him. And it took every ounce of effort to not just give into it and hope that somehow they got through it. He exhaled deeply.

“Isn’t that a bit extreme?” he asked softly. “You don’t _have_ to effectively _prostitute yourself_ to get me to agree to things.”

Akechi made a funny little gasping sound then. “No, but it’s still fairer like that, isn’t it?”

And, it was a mood killer. The idea of Akechi just going through the motions and putting up with sex just for someone else’s sake was completely unappealing.

“Not really,” Ren said.

“Well _why_ did you initiate that?”

“I… don’t know?” He felt uncomfortable admitting it now. “I was… just worried about you.”

“There’s nothing to worry about.” His voice had grown resigned. “We both said that if the roles in these tasks were reversed, this would have been easier.”

“I meant that _you_ would have been cutting _me,”_ Ren muttered.

“And _I_ meant that _you_ would have been doing various sexual things to me.”

“I wouldn’t have done that,” Ren shot back. He wasn’t angry, but slightly annoyed.

“Now you can understand _my_ reticence.”

“But you—” And he stopped there. He _what_? Was more experienced? Was okay with hurting others? Ren wasn’t sure, and felt like whatever he said was going to sound wildly offensive.

“I _told_ you I am not especially dextrous and lack the soft touch you demonstrated during the first task. I would have made a _mess_ of you if I’d attempted the cutting exercise. Conversely, sex doesn’t particularly bother me that much and I could have easily tolerated the tasks you were set.”

Ren sniffed. It was far easier to say how simple the tasks were when you _weren’t_ the one having to do them, wasn’t it?

“Even the _gag_ one?” he asked incredulously. “Even the lingerie one?”

In the grey light, Akechi blinked slowly, as though he was trying to work out what to say.

“Honestly, seeing you trying to wear either of those things would be—”

“I’ve done worse.”

Ren felt something immediate and calcifying explode in him automatically. And then the return of the confession about that friend of Shido’s choking him, and a hot anger overtaking him. “ _What_?”

“It’s none of your concern and none of your business really, but the tasks wouldn’t have the same crippling effects on me as they appear to be having on you.”

That wasn’t fair. Cutting Akechi had done something to him. Watching Akechi have to do things to _him_ made it clear that Akechi had a similar level of concern as he had when he was taking blood.

“I’m not _crippled_ ,” he snapped.

“Oh, please, Ren, tonight showed both of us that it was too much for you. You snapped at me. You—”

“You were treating me like an idiot—”

“I was _trying_ to ensure you didn’t get hurt. Hoping you might at least derive some enjoyment from it despite the circumstances.” A slight, sharp anger had come into his voice. “You enjoyed the _last_ few ones, didn’t you?”

“And you didn’t _?”_ Ren hissed. “Or were you just _performing_ , being camera-friendly _charming_ to win me over with your surface personality, trying to con me, like you conned everyone else when you were famous? Was _that_ it?”

Somehow, the humiliation of _that_ , the idea that this was nothing more than Akechi placating him like he was some sort of blushing virgin, was mortifying. His voice shook with the same quaking nervousness as he’d had walking through from the bathroom in that ridiculous lingerie. One thing felt abundantly clear now, though: he understood just how awful it felt to be pitied.

Akechi didn’t say anything. He just lay there, still and uncomfortable. Ren had expected him to lash back with something, to insult him, to tell him that _how else_ was he expected to behave towards him, it wasn’t like he _wanted_ to do anything sexual with him, but instead, there was restrained silence from him, like he was longing to say something, but refusing to. It was so unlike him; he was normally _so_ good at cutting insults. But instead, he just lay there, looking at Ren in a way that made him feel like the naked one.

“So what do we do?” Ren asked.

“It’s up to you,” Akechi said. “I have no preference for either of the remaining tasks when you ignore the choking one. Which we _will_ ignore, because I refuse to do it.”

_But you were willing to have sex with me to secure the lingerie one._

“So why did you _proposition me_ earlier?”

“I thought that was what you wanted.”

Ren sucked in his breath.

“I thought that would level the playing field so to speak.” Akechi spoke quietly and with clarity. “I suspect that my observations about you having an inclination towards submissive tendencies has made you uncomfortable and that played a part in our failure of the task.” He sounded so annoyingly blasé about it, and worse yet, Ren suspected that he was correct in his assumption. Somewhat.

“I don’t want _you_ to feel you _have_ to do anything _else_ in addition to the tasks,” Ren said. “That… isn’t exactly a turn on, thinking that someone is _tolerating_ having sex with you.”

“Oh, I’m sure it could be quite enjoyable. We seemed to get through the earlier tasks easily enough.”

“That was out of necessity,” Ren whispered. “Something like this isn’t.” He was thinking hard and fast. It was like a warped, distorted desire: he _wanted_ Akechi. In a way, his wish had been granted to him and agreed to… but the one essential factor—enthusiastic consent, that same level of _want_ , was missing, and it ruined it. “I’ll tell you what,” he continued, still considering his options. “I’ll agree to redoing the lingerie activity if you answer a question for me. Like the chess game.”

In the darkness, Akechi blinked. Surely answering a question was nothing compared to offering himself up sexually?

“Very well.” There was a sigh in his voice. “Anything I deem invasive or unfair, I won’t answer, though.”

 _And that could be anything, couldn’t it?_ Yet again, he’d wrestled control away from Ren, who could only agree, and started considering what to ask that would get answered and wasn’t too personal.

“Fine.” He sucked in his breath. “Why did you throw that chess game so I could choose the task?”

Akechi giggled. Maybe it was _relief_ , but still, he chuckled like it was such a _funny_ thing he’d been asked.

“You’re still hung up on that, are you?” He stretched under the covers and ran a hand through his hair. “I was wanting to see what you’d do when faced with choice. Sometimes I feel like I almost understand you, and then you do something unexpected. It’s fascinating.”

“So you expected me to choose the cutting activity?”

“Yes. But you seem to have a strange level of trust towards me.”

Ren was frustrated. It felt like _whatever_ he said, Akechi somehow had some irritatingly breezy way of not only dominating the conversation and leading it where he wanted to, and keeping Ren at an arm’s length.

“Maybe we’ve been through enough stuff together that trusting you is the only logical option.” _And maybe, it helps you keep your distance if you act like trusting you is naïve._ It was like things had fallen into place. Somewhat. “You trust _me_ , don’t you?”

There was a strange, elongated silence then. “I don’t trust _anyone_ ,” Akechi said eventually. “I tend to trust reliable patterns and consistencies, when I feel like I have figured someone out.” And then he paused. “And part of what I find so fascinating about you is that I _can’t_ figure you out. I feel like maybe I _have_ and then all of a sudden you do the complete opposite of what it looked like you were going to do.”

“Do you _have_ to needlessly complicate everything?” Ren asked.

“Usually people are predictable. You’re not. You’re an unknown, a bit of a wild card, I suppose.”

It felt kind of flattering to be spoken about like that. To consider the idea of Akechi actually _thinking_ about him that much and _trying_ to figure him out, even though it was likely just Akechi being a detective and doing it only because he was trying to ascertain whether or not he was the Phantom Thieves’ leader.

“I feel kind of transparent around you,” Ren admitted. “I don’t think I’m _that_ hard to understand.” He’d never seen himself as such, anyway. None of his other friends or associates seemed to think so—hell, nearly all of his more casual contacts had worked out who he was when he was meant to be incognito—and that wasn’t thanks to Ryuji’s lack of filter or discretion, either— but had also understood that he didn’t want to talk about it.

He sucked in his breath. Maybe part of getting Akechi to trust him was showing that _he_ trusted him. Or maybe this was just a convincing ploy to have some power over him. But then again… if he gave Akechi the chance to ask him anything, he knew exactly what he was going to ask. And perhaps it _would_ help them if he was just honest about the fact that he’d never gone all the way so to speak; if they were going to reattempt the task, maybe there was a discussion they needed to have.  
  
“Okay,” he said with apprehension. “ _You_ can ask me _anything_.” He considered all the things Akechi could, and probably would ask about, and then realised that most of the story, he already knew. There weren’t any skeletons rattling around in his closet and he’d already told Akechi things even his closest friends didn’t know. “No matter _how_ personal. No holds barred.”

He was waiting for it. For Akechi’s awkwardness and polite phrasing to kick in and ask what the extent of his sexual experience was. And he tried to think about how to explain a hookup had taken him back to his apartment and eaten his ass and they’d _intended_ on doing the rest of it, but apparently the dude was on some sort of medication that stopped him from getting hard, and that what had looked like a hopeful evening had quickly turned awkward, and awkward enough for them to completely drop contact afterwards.

“All right then…” Akechi sounded nervous and thoughtful. Ren braced himself for the question.

“Have you ever fallen in love?”

What the _fuck_? He’d bypassed the obvious and gone and asked something so weirdly personal and cutting and—and here _he_ was saying that _he_ responded in unexpected ways and was difficult to understand.

“Why are you asking me about _that_?”

“Because I want to know what I am dealing with, that’s all.”

Was it a roundabout way of asking him about his sexual experiences, or was it just about satisfying a deep curiousity?

Ren sucked in his breath. He hadn’t expected this, and he’d sworn to himself he’d be honest, and this was just going to make things a whole lot more awkward.

“I think I might have been getting there at one point,” he said quietly.

“What happened?”

“Well—” Oh, fuckit, why _not_ just be completely, brutally honest, it wasn’t like it actually _mattered_ any more—“It all happened over the course of a pretty weird time in my life, actually. I wasn’t out, he wasn’t either, and I never actually knew if he liked me and every time I thought maybe he did, things would get weird and he’d just disappear on me.”

Akechi didn’t say anything. Emboldened by having pushed him into a silence—was it shock, disbelief, irritation—Ren wasn’t sure _what_ —he continued.

“I mean, there was one time we were out on a date, and he said he had something to tell me, and it almost made me think he was going to tell me something, or suggest something, or—I dunno. What did he do? Checked his phone and told me he had to go to _work_.”

“Oh.” Akechi’s voice was thin and weak.

“I know, right?” Ren chuckled darkly. “A _high schooler_ apparently had some shitty after hours _job_ that he needed to avoid me for.”

“Well,” Akechi said quietly. “You were probably smart in not pursuing anything there. You deserve better than that, Ren.”

“ _Then_ there was the time he set me and my friends up even though I’d argued with my friends that he wasn’t who they thought he was, and that I knew him in a way they didn’t—and _man_ —eating my words after hearing that he was going to shoot me when I was detained by police made me feel like a real idiot.” Sarcasm had dribbled into his words. “And you know, _that_ was when I realised I’d probably fallen in love. Because if I hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have actually defended him to them. I’d have laughed about it. And I wouldn’t have spent the next few days desperately hoping I was wrong.”

Akechi made a strange little sniffling sounding noise then.

“So there you go,” Ren said, almost exhausted, and kind of frustrated. “ _There’s_ your answer.”

“I—” His voice sounded strangled and low and deeply uncomfortable. “I still believe you deserve better than someone who would do that to you,” he said.

Ren laughed angrily. “Maybe I do, but the thing is, I haven’t come across anyone else like this guy. He really is something, you know? The most complicated, emotionally shut off and manipulative person I have come across, but great conversation and good company and a damn good kisser.”

 _Ball’s in your court_. He was expecting Akechi to do one of two things—angrily shift out of bed and storm into the bathroom, or to silence the awkwardness and harsh truths by kissing him. It was like a high stakes gamble where you picked red or black, spun the roulette wheel and prayed.

“I made that call because I know exactly what Shido’s friends are like,” Akechi said quietly.

No storming off. No kiss. Just quiet resignation.

“Had I left one of them kill you, as Shido had suggested in another conversation—that as long as I brought you to his men, you’d be taken care of, and I’d be spared the pain of having to kill you—I know they wouldn’t have cleanly shot you in the head.”

Now it was Ren who was frozen into silence.

“Remember when I asked if you were sexually assaulted in the cell or if someone had attempted to strangle you in there?”

Ren didn’t say anything.

“They wouldn’t have killed you as gently and quickly as I thought I had.” He continued, in a blunt, deadpan sort of manner. “After I’d thought I’d disposed of you, Shido actually told me to go after all your friends, too. He even told me to kill _Morgana_ —he didn’t entirely understand, had never been into the Metaverse himself, had no comprehension of Morgana’s true power—but he was paranoid and triumphant and thought that in getting me to murder the person he’d deduced I was vaguely obsessed with, he’d triumphed over me. Broken me.”

“So why _didn’t_ you kill my friends?” Ren asked blankly. He wasn’t sure if he believed it, or if this was another embellished, fluffed up performance from a natural in front of a camera.

“Because I _couldn’t_. They were all that was left of you, I thought, at the time.”

“You don’t even _like_ my friends.”

“I never had any particular problems with Morgana, and Makoto and I were quite civil towards one another… Yusuke and I never really _talked_ but I harboured no animosity towards him. And Ann, all things considered—”

“You would have killed them on Shido’s orders if they were anyone else.”

“Yes,” he said. “But I convinced him that it was a strategically silly idea—which it really _was_ anyway— and told him to calm down. It was the first time I’d actually refused an order from him or defied him, and he was too arrogant to realise that that’s what I was doing, because he thought I was under his thumb by that point.”

He breathed out slowly, and spoke in an uncomfortable, low tone. “He thought he’d broken my spirit so many times and I _allowed_ him to think that.” There was a note of triumph in his voice then. “And then when I was investigating the Phantom Thieves, relaying information back to him, he started asking me questions about the investigation… I think he’d deduced there was a bit more going on there, and it annoyed him that I wasn’t upfront.”

“Oh?”

“He kept asking me if I was seeing a girl. It was amusing, actually. I wasn’t _lying_ to him when I said no, but something in my demeanour must have given away that I was distracted by something.” And then adding quickly, “I _was_ careful not to give anything away about my personal activities.”

“You mean, like the pool and the jazz club?”

“Yes,” he said. “He never found out about the Jazz Jin and it was a convenient place for me anyway.” He paused. “I truly _do_ enjoy the atmosphere there and the music.”

“And you tell _all_ the guys you’re hitting on that you have never taken anyone else there before, too, do you?”

Akechi gave a small laugh. “Well, no, actually, there was only the one. And he seemed to enjoy it as much as I did which was a surprise. I felt like if I gave him enough opportunities to dislike me or find me strange or hard to relate to, he’d get somewhat uncomfortable and cease to contact me or accept my invitations.”

“And yet you made a hasty exit for _work_ when we were there.”

“I was called away.”

Ren could feel his heart racing. It was like he was finally getting some answers, and Akechi was sounding absurdly promising—and vulnerable—in a way that seemed to add up to more than being a convincing act, and yet—

“Was that a Metaverse job?”

“No, not that evening, and it was cancelled anyway. I do believe I called you up not long afterwards and we wound up discussing the show we'd seen.”

“We did.”

There was a long pause between them then, and Ren was unsure how to react. The bed clothes felt clammy and hot against him, and here was Akechi— _talking for once_ —apparently lacking any kind of ulterior motives, finally revealing the little gaps within everything that had happened from his end in the interrogation cell.

And then there’d been what had sounded like a very blunt confession only thinly veiled with euphemisms and vagaries.

“What happened to the guy, anyway?” Ren asked. There was a smug note in his voice, hiding his amazement and confusion and the part of him that didn’t quite want to get his hopes up.

“I think he’s trying to avoid reality by claiming some manipulative prick got under his skin even though he’s smarter and better than that and he’s selling himself short by even thinking about this person.” There was depreciative shallow laughter, and Akechi ran his hands through his hair again. “It’s a shame, really, he was probably one of the kindest, funniest and most adventurous people I have known. I always wondered what he was like in bed… I mean, he had great legs and these eyes that would just call you across the room from a crowded television studio.”

And that was all it took.

His lips crushed against Akechi’s, his hands running through that silky brown hair, he could feel Akechi’s fingertips massaging against his scalp, and some part of him _knew_ this was just Akechi trying to placate him, but _god,_ he deserved some sort of payoff for his effort, it was _smooth_. Maybe some part of it—that wasn’t _his part—_ was true, and anyway, this was probably a practical turn of events given the task they’d be doing next. Weirdly enough, he thought, as he felt an arm snake around his waist and under his night shirt, easing it up and off, that comment about his legs ( _I have great legs? What?_ ) somehow made the idea of the lingerie slightly—only slightly—less awful. If he’d been made to wear a _clown suit_ or something _weird_ rather than revealing, it would be entirely not sexy for both of them. He considered the possibility that perhaps Akechi hadn’t been entirely repulsed by his appearance during the last task, and wondered how _he’d_ have coped. He wouldn’t have wanted to admit that he looked sexy, _especially_ if he’d known Akechi was uncomfortable. 

But _still_. Akechi’s kiss was rough and breathy, and his breath escaped in ragged gasps as he pulled Ren’s pyjama top over his head. Breaking contact for a moment as Ren fumbled his way out of it completely, he pressed his lips to the soft, sensitive skin of Ren’s neck, kissing him roughly until a whine escaped him.

His head was spinning and he felt intoxicated. And there was an honesty in his touch; somehow, he realised, this was genuine. No matter what walls or nonchalance Akechi put up, this didn’t feel staged whatsoever; this was too overwhelming, too messy and rough and _real_ and too organic and completely lacking in strategic value to be anything other than actual desire.

He sunk into it, vaguely wondering to himself where things were going to end up; would Akechi pull back at some point, running to the bathroom full of guilt and self-loathing, or would _he_ put an end to things, somehow deciding this was all a ruse designed to make him behave in a certain way?

He hated that he over-thought everything. Why _couldn’t_ this be their reality? It had felt like they’d played a strange game of cat and mouse on so many levels for so long now, and that he wasn’t sure which one he was, or if they were simultaneously both pursuer and target.

He felt one hand gently cupping his jaw, Akechi’s lips moving into his for another kiss. And then he felt another hand, his right, moving over his chest, fingers splayed, like he was mapping out his body and committing it to memory. He pulled away from the kiss briefly, his face shifting downwards, his lips now softly nipping at the tender, electrified pulse around his neck.

And Ren felt a quiet moan come out of him.

Acknowledging it with a smirk, and then returning to his ministrations, Akechi turned his attention further down, a smooth trail of kisses making their way down to a nipple and encasing it with his mouth, his tongue cheekily flicking against tender skin, while Ren’s hand still massaged the back of his head, his fingers lost in that smooth, sandy hair.

Feeling his whole body squirm under the sensation, Ren moaned again, soft and only slightly self-conscious. And then Akechi shifted again, and despite the fabric of his pyjama pants between them, Ren felt it; the distinct pressure and stiffness against his thigh.

 _He’s getting off on this_.

He understood. Something about the idea of Akechi being aroused by making him moan like that was unnervingly hot—and it _also_ suggested that he hadn’t actually been lying about his kinks, either.

“So what are your _other_ kinks?” Ren asked huskily.

“I think it’s probably more fun if you try to find out yourself.”

That crisp, cool response, so weirdly in control and normal despite what he was doing, sent shudders through Ren. It was typical contrasting Akechi, that sensual, intense touch which was making him moan and writhe against the mattress, his skin prickling with sweat, his senses heightened—and yet that calm, perfectly _normal_ way he just said it somehow made it all the more erotic. It was the cold, distinct feel of an ice cube against hot skin; a little jolt bringing him back to the reality of the situation which only enhanced things.

And _fuck_. Maybe Akechi was _right_ about him. Maybe being at his mercy like this _was_ what he liked, especially since Akechi seemed to be relishing having full control over the situation. He seemed thoroughly confident, cocky, in his element.

As his hands moved lower, he slowly tugged down on Ren’s pyjama pants, the fabric frustratingly rubbing against his straining cock.

“Well,” he said, as though he’d discovered something surprising, “Seems it’s not just me then.”

Ren bit down on his bottom lip, unsure what to say. This wasn’t nearly as awkward and embarrassing as it probably could have been; they have the veil of darkness and the privacy afforded them of the sheets covering them, but _still_. He vaguely wondered what things would be like in a few hours.

And then he lost that thought, as slippery hands ran down his erection. Momentarily confused, he uttered a quiet “Huh?”, shifting up slightly, kicking his pyjama pants off completely, and shifting a leg aside to allow those hands better access.

“I never returned the lube to the trolley,” Akechi explained in a low undertone. “In hindsight, probably not such a bad idea.”

A momentary, guilt burst of panic happened: was that why they’d been unable to select an alternative task? He didn’t care as Akechi stroked him, alternating the pressure and his movements, interspersing several slow, loose strokes with a faster, tighter one here and there, until Ren found himself pushing into those hands, hungry for more, desperate for the release of being thoroughly overwhelmed. He shifted around to return the favour; not easy for their positions, and attempted to mimic Akechi’s actions, amazed that he seemed to be in a similar state of want.

“One moment—” Suddenly the hands were gone, the pressure was gone, and Akechi was shifting again, and then there was a small _thud_ as the bottle of lube landed on the floor.

And then came the sounds suggesting that Akechi was pleasuring himself; Ren tried to sit up, to assist—only to feel the weight of a moist, slightly sticky hand push him back onto the mattress.

He whined in protest. He’d always been for doing things _fairly_ , and it felt like he wasn’t pulling his weight. He struggled around under the sheets, caught in the humid warmth from their breaths and their sweat, and leaned down to touch Akechi. He was rewarded with a content, satisfied moan, and Akechi shifting his legs further apart, allowing Ren to continue what he’d started, as he returned to Ren’s neglected cock.

And then his fingers moved lower, releasing him, but moving down to his perineum, firmly massaging it, like he was ascertaining that Ren was sufficiently aroused, before dipping behind him and running a slickened finger down the crevice of his ass. Ren could feel an incoherent murmur forming in the back of his throat, and shifted towards him, tilting himself up slightly, his body desperate for more of that exquisite touch. He could feel Akechi leaking precome into his hands, warm and wet, and shifted further, tightening his grip, increasing the speed of his movements.

Then he felt Akechi leaning against him, a hand still gliding over his entrance, smooth and encouraging and slick and somehow not quite enough.

And then he felt Akechi’s hot breath in his ear. “Is this okay?”

All Ren could muster up was an awkward “Mmm-hmm”, and a furious shake of his head, momentarily lost for words, but tilting himself up slightly more, as if begging Akechi’s touch to get bolder.

“If this is too much—” It sounded like a taunt, and all Ren could do was mutter a scrambled, “I’m good, keep going,” and lose himself in the sensation of Akechi leaking against him, while fingertips teasingly brushed over him. It felt like every muscle in his body was tensing and begging, welcoming his touch, and he bit down hard on his bottom lip as a careful fingertip pushed into him. Desperate for _more_ , he pushed against the intrusion, his body having taken over, that feeling of _that task_ when he’d had _that thing in him_ and it had grazed his prostate, bringing him that all encompassing release.

“Careful—” Akechi shifted around again, before moving closer, evidently unable to find the lubricant and relying on his own fluids to wet his hands. “Slow down— you’re still—”  
  


As if in protest, Ren pushed up, hard, against him, feeling Akechi’s finger move deeper into him, wringing out a surprised gasp from him.

“Are you _sure_?” he asked. There was uncertainty and disbelief there.

Nodding furiously, then aware that in the darkness Akechi might not had _noticed_ , he offered what he hoped was an encouraging noise, and Akechi gently added a second finger.

Ren whined, shifting up even closer, desperate for release, wondering if Akechi was going to stop short of actual sex. He could feel himself clenching around his fingers, loosening then tightening again, like he was greedily drawing him in,his body automatically trying to drag him to that point of pleasure.

Akechi chuckled. “I think I know what you’d like, but you’re _still_ very tight—”

“Just—” It was the most helpless, desperate plea he’d remembered making before

“Give us a moment,” he muttered, somehow simultaneously spreading his fingers apart and pushing them deeper. “I’d prefer this to—”

Ren whined again, arching up towards him, wanting some sort of release. He found something close in Akechi’s lips meeting his again, for a crushing, almost aggressive kiss which pushed him back down onto the mattress. And then he felt the emptiness of fingers removed, a brief sense of irritation, and then was aware that Akechi’s left hand was elsewhere, guiding his cock along the cleft of his ass, and then—uncomfortably at first, slowly pushing in.

The sudden change was mildly startling, and he felt his body tense up for a second. Then some part of him kicked into instinct, relaxing around him, his mind racing off in different directions at the sensation. It wasn’t painful as much as it felt… full… in a way that he hadn’t really experienced before, and there was the frustration of it feeling entirely too slow to hit the core of his desire. He canted his hips against Akechi, to find that he was almost ignored as he continued the slow, languid pace. Whether he was teasing him or trying to be gentle, Ren was no longer sure.

And then, somewhere else in his mind was that _this_ was how his first time was happening. With the guy he’d been in an endlessly messy, overly complicated situation with, and yet, it was somehow close to perfect, annoying and frustrating and _difficult_ as Akechi was.

He felt his lips on his again, and hot breath against him. And then Akechi swearing quietly, in a possessed, almost awed sort of way, as though he’d just lowered himself into a hot bath after a long day.

And _fuck_. _That_ was hot. He broke away, throwing his head back, and Ren felt a compulsion to move up against him and kiss him—he did, missing his face entirely, his lips and teeth somehow landing on that sinewy neck instead and then came a sharper thrust and a _deep_ moan from Akechi, like he’d lost that smart tongue and way with words.

He could feel his dick leaked now, against the hand which had moved from his entrance back to grasp him, and the slow, building rhythm as Akechi pushed into him, attentive and careful, but quite faster now, his hand stroking him in unison.

Ren pushed back against him, angling himself in the hope that he’d hit that spot and they’d get release; a few more thrusts and Akechi was speeding up, his breath coming out jagged, joining his own. Trying to sit up somewhat and return the movement, he brushed that frustrating bedsheet out the way to be hit with the sensation of cold air against bare skin.

And then he felt that rush of sensation as Akechi pushed into him again, finally connecting with that place of frustration, sending waves of pleasure through him. He moaned deeply again, feeling lips connecting with his then shifting away, Akechi stroking him and thrusting into him furiously now, his voice and his breath wrecked and mumbling _something_ against his ear that he couldn’t quite make out; it didn’t matter any more.

And then it felt like they’d found sync; they shifted against one another, the natural push-and-pull feeling rhythmic and like a strange kind of karmic connection, their breaths in competition with one another, and then—

Akechi did that ridiculously sexy thing where he threw his head back like a wild stallion, his neck bared and white in the hazy grey light, vulnerable and feral and almost _possessed_ as he screamed something incoherent and primal in release, and Ren felt everything get slicker as he pushed up against him one time before exploding into his hand and a gasping, sticky mess of bliss and fog and amazement.

They stayed like that for awhile—again; and then Akechi shifted, withdrawing his fading erection, pulling the sheets over them in the darkness and an arm around Ren.

Ren was still catching his breath. His skin was quivering in a strangely _alive_ kind of way, his head was full of bliss and amazement and a sense of _holy shit we just did it_ , and what didn’t feel electric with that tingling afterglow felt a bit tired and sore in a worn out but satisfied way; like after a successful heist or a decent workout at the gym… only a _million_ times better.

He squirmed under Akechi’s grip, kissing him softly, their breaths still catching up with them, still in that almost surreal state of bliss.

“That was—” he started to say, but couldn’t find the words.”

“Yes.” Akechi tightened his grip around him before releasing him. “Although, it might be worth remaking the bed and showering before breakfast—”

It was, in all honesty, the _last_ thing Ren felt like doing. Staying here in this warmth, snuggled next to Akechi, simultaneously trying to go back to sleep and stop overthinking everything that had just happened seemed like a better idea, but he knew how things tended to happen after the tasks, and in some ways, this was only an expansion upon that.

He nodded, fishing around amongst the bedclothes for his pyjamas, pulling on the pants, and lazily moving across the room to switch on the lights. 

The spell was broken. When his back had been turned, Akechi had pulled the bathrobe back on, and he was hastily pulling the sheets from the mattress in a sort of efficient, unaffected kind of way. Just about everything—except the wild hair sticking out at random angles and the shadow of a bruise appearing near his collarbone ( _I did that?)_ seemed perfectly normal. He appeared engrossed in the task of stripping the bed, unable to meet Ren’s eyes.

Seeing the bottle of lube on the floor, Ren awkwardly capped it, and placed it next to the tablet on the television stand.

Akechi remained silent, and seemed to have taken care of removing the sheets.

Clueless about what _he_ should be doing, he grabbed his clothes from the pile at the front of the room and walked into the bathroom.

Breakfast was entirely unfamiliar to both of them, a sort of porridge made from oats soaked in some type of sweet liquid, garnished with handfuls of artfully arranged fruits, with a sort of berry sauce sitting at the bottom of the delicate glass bowl it was served in.

At least, if not anything else, it served as a conversation point, because after making the bed, then Akechi showering and falling back into it, there’d been no discussion between them about anything.

“I think it’s some sort of Western thing,” Akechi said, nudging at the surface with his spoon. “It doesn’t _look_ bad, just _odd_ , I guess.”

“You mean you never saw anything like this in any of those fancy cafes you visited?”

“No. I think this is more the sort of thing that American _gym fanatics_ —” _no_ thinly-veiled sneer at Ryuji, _right?_ —“would eat. I think the ingredients are exotic trending health foods for muscle growth and energy.”

“I wouldn’t know about that,” Ren said. “I never really ate breakfast until I started living at LeBlanc. Then it was curry.”

Akechi smiled. “I hope they don’t serve us curry for one of the main meals while we’re here.”

“Can’t be worse than the pancakes the other morning.”

Akechi grimaced, and delicately scooped into his meal, again, looking focussed on the task, and avoiding Ren’s eyes.

It was frustrating: he’d actually realised in the absence of it, he’d _liked_ their over-breakfast conversation. Even if it started out awkwardly, it usually lead to something deeper in terms of them understanding one another.

He ate a spoonful of the—it was muesli of some sort, he thought—and realised, with some degree of apprehension, that while Akechi had returned to normal, he hadn’t, and was still somewhat high on a sense of bliss and wonder. Once again, it felt like they were out of sync; Akechi was closed off and awkwardly uncommunicative, albeit being informal and _polite_ at least, while he… was feeling an embarrassingly sentimental sort of glow about things, where he’d have _liked_ to have just gone back to bed and spent the rest of the morning snuggled up against Akechi and discussing things with him.

It was precarious, and he knew he shouldn’t be thinking like this. The fantasy was always having _sex_ with Akechi, and it had been fulfilled, he knew he should be grateful for that much. Especially since, in _this_ situation, they’d miraculously found time for completely spontaneous, unnecessary sex, and it had been better than the fantasies.

But some greedy, emotional side of him hungered for more; for an intimacy with Akechi that he suspected Akechi couldn’t actually do, and that he had no _right_ to.

Tonight they’d redo the lingerie exercise. After this morning, there was probably no question of them succeeding—and then, Ren thought, it would be well and truly over; they’d all but agreed to commit to the injury tier of tasks.

That’s _all_ this had been about, he realised. Akechi building him up enough to get him over the line so they could move past this task. And after tonight, they’d be a mere long weekend away from release. And then, in freedom, they could try to return to their regularly scheduled lives.

At least Akechi had said—even though it was well before any of _this_ had happened—that he wanted them to remain friends. A greedy, selfish, atypically _jealous_ part of Ren wanted something more than that, which he knew he had absolutely no right to.

But he _still_ longed for it.

In the mid-afternoon, after Akechi had spent most of the day reading, Ren had spent some of the time sleeping and playing games on his phone, and the chess set had been unfortunately ignored, it was Akechi who broke the heavy silence.

“I suppose we should try and reselect the task, shouldn’t we?”

Ren just nodded in agreement. He wondered if the option to change had been barred from them because they didn’t return all the materials—the bottle of lube, blatantly red and loud, sat on the TV unit, as though commanding attention—or if it had been due to the fact that it was late, and their attempts at task completion were limited to one per day.

They hadn’t checked the other rooms. Ren was starting to feel that it was possibly better not to know about the others, especially after what had happened in Room Number Five.

But a perverse curiousity made him wonder, and he flicked over to the other participants. Room Number Five were still there, still on ninety points, and Akechi saw him frown at the implications.

“I feel sorry for them,” Ren said. “Whatever the final task it, is must be awful.”

“I can only assume that they levelled up on both tiers,” Akechi muttered. “If the sex ones escalated _that_ badly, then the obvious choice would be the other ones, wouldn’t it? Maybe they’re at a stalemate choosing between two equally impossible options.”

“Maybe they don’t even _want_ to leave now that one of them is dead,” Ren suggested. And an icy, uncomfortable silence filled the room as they waited for the task selection screen to load.

“Now—” Akechi looked at the options—same as yesterday’s—thoughtfully. “Of the two options… I suppose it’s up to you which task we reattempt first.”

“The lingerie one.” His response was so automatic. After what had happened between them this morning, and with an awareness of what exactly was required, it still seemed easier than the cutting task, which, when he truly thought about it, Ren was dreading.

Akechi raised an eyebrow. “Are you _sure_ about that?”

“Yes.”

“Very well.” He made the selection and watched as the screen appeared to accept it. And Ren turned back to his phone, assuming he’d go back to his ebook, but instead, he spoke up.

“Perhaps we should talk about how to make it easier for both of us,” he said quietly.

“What, cross dressing isn’t _your_ thing either?”

Akechi chuckled nervously. “No. You weren’t the only one with misgivings about the task. You… just made your discomfort much more obvious than I did.”

“So you didn’t think I looked hot in that?” Maybe he was flirting. Perhaps he was fishing for compliments.

“No… and your distress only made it harder for me to deal with,” he admitted. “It truly _was_ designed to humiliate both of us, I suppose, when you consider it.” He looked thoughtful. “I suppose this sort of thing might be different for men who are attracted to women, or who are secretly into this sort of thing, but—”

“Do you wonder if they ever will hit one of our kinks?” Ren asked. Akechi just raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

“Like, if, I dunno, say you were into, I dunno, _feet_ and they wanted you to give me a foot massage or something.”

“I doubt they’re going to put something that benign on the list after these ones.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Hmmm.”

“I wonder _what_ the next ones on this tier are going to be?” Ren paused. “Assuming they don’t just leave the choking one there.”

“I was wondering that myself. I mean, you can’t get much more extreme than something that could result in death or permanent disability, can you?” He looked mildly embarrassed. “The closest I could think of was actual death—necrophilia—or something—but that would violate their rules about continuing the experiment if the number of participants dropped below two in a room.”

Ren was trying very hard _not_ to think about the task being along those lines. “That’s assuming they actually let people go after that happens. Maybe they just put the sole survivors in other rooms together so two perfect strangers have to do these together.”

“That’s… not a comforting thought.” Akechi’s voice was serious and concerned. “I assume necrophilia is at the top end, so if that’s the last option, there’s still two more awful things in between.” He sighed. “To be honest, I’d prefer not to waste time thinking about what they might be.”

Ren nodded. “I’m not looking forward to doing the cutting exercise.”

“I can’t say I am, either. But if we do it somewhere out of the way and where there aren’t many nerve endings, I should probably be all right. Unfortunately for _you_ , you’re going to need to work out how to mentally push through your discomfort.” _As I had to with the sex ones_ , was the unspoken sentiment.

Still, _not_ having to cut Akechi, even if it came with the consolation prize of having to wear that hideous lingerie again, made Ren feel better than if they’d selected _that_ option.

“So… how do we handle this evening?”

“Hmm…” Akechi looked around the room thoughtfully. “Perhaps we were on the right track last time; we dim the lights as much as possible and try to avoid the obvious elephant in the room.” His face was tinged with red as he spoke. “The specifics didn’t mention that we _couldn’t_ do anything else, either, so perhaps we could… vary things up a little.”

Ren was intrigued, but didn’t know what to say in response. The fact that his sole experience with actual penetrative sex was only hours ago was still on his mind, and he wasn’t sure how to communicate that in a way that didn’t seem awkward. And then there was the creeping sense that maybe, in a way, he’d _lied_ to Akechi, which made him feel uneasy.

“Okay,” he said slowly.

“Is there anything I _should_ be particularly aware of?” Akechi asked. “That might... make things a bit easier for you? A preferred position, if you will?”

“Um—”

The embarrassment was contagious, and Ren wasn’t sure what to say. Somehow everything had been so much easier in the grey hours of the morning darkness, when words became obtuse and desire took over. Planning things seemed far too clinical and calculated.

Then again, that was the point of the experiment, wasn’t it? Clinical, calculated, and designed for maximum awkwardness. It wasn’t _meant_ to be fun.

“Yes?”

“I haven’t really thought about it,” he admitted.

“Oh?” Akechi sounded quite cocky now. “From this morning, I seemed to get the impression it might have crossed your mind at least a few times.”

“That’s _not_ what I meant.” Ren couldn’t help but chuckle. The entire situation was so absurd, but at least some part of him could find amusement in it somewhere. Some subconscious part that masked apprehension with nervous laughter, maybe.

“I’m… trying to work out how we do this in a way that means we _pass_ the exercise.” Akechi’s face had turned serious. “I… don’t think this failure of tasks is good for either of us, and we’re stuck at the two we haven’t been able to complete now.”

“Well what would work for _you_?”

“Hmmm… I don’t want to feel like I’m dehumanising you. I’d… rather see your face.”

Ren nodded. He had the vague memory of snapping at him last night, accusing him of being patronising and twee, when perhaps, the sentiment was quite genuine. And strangely _nice_. At least if he was focussed on his face, he wouldn’t be focussed on that ill-fitting negligee barely covering him.

“And… perhaps we should discuss what didn’t work last night. A bit of an autopsy of the failed task, if you will… we probably should do the same for the other one, to be honest.”

“We can do that tomorrow, I guess.” Ren could feel the tension creeping into his voice. While Akechi’s suggestions were smart and reasonable, they were brute-forcing him to think about things that made him uncomfortable. But, he supposed, there was no way of doing it softly gently, hidden behind hazy euphemisms and positive phrasing. Better to just rip the bandaid off and get it done with.

“Yes. Now… I feel like after this morning, I have a better idea of what you like, but… was I doing anything that was ruining it for you last night?”

Ren remembered the encouragement and the featherlight touch. Akechi treating him like he was so fragile and close to breaking: maybe he was due to the tension, but it had only made things worse. He cleared his throat before speaking, his eyes unfocused and uncomfortable, no longer meeting Akechi’s.

“I… feel like you seem to think I’m… some sort of innocent,” he admitted. And then felt stupid for saying it: compared to Akechi’s experience, he kind of felt like he _was_ , but the reminder made him feel almost incompetent. “Like you have to overexaggerate the nice things to placate me.” He felt like he was wording it badly, and that it would be horribly offensive. “Like you’re feeling like you _have_ to put some sort of softener on things so I don’t hate it.”

Akechi blinked, looking slightly taken aback.

“I suppose… after this morning… you realise that I… _actually like you_. You don’t need to act like this is some sort of horrible trauma I need my hand held through.”

His eyes moved over to him then, scanning his face for a reaction. Akechi’s warm sensibility had shifted back into that unreadable, impassive look that Ren still hadn’t quite mastered the understanding of.

“Okay,” he said coolly. “Maybe I _was_ trying to put you at ease, though—” Cutting himself off, he changed lanes. “I sort of deduced that perhaps you weren’t especially experienced in this sort of thing, and _really_ didn’t want to hurt you. I… can’t say I have really done anything with a virgin before.”

 _Yes you_ can _, but maybe we should avoid that subject._

Ren raised an eyebrow. “Just _how many_ people have you had sex with?” Given the way his entire branding rested on being youthful and cute and quite inoffensively charming, he felt guilty asking, but some competitive streak in him had been reignited.

“ _Enough_. What about you, anyway, Ren? I’ve noticed you seem to very adeptly avoid that line of conversation.”

“ _Enough_ ,” he responded.

Akechi chuckled and raised an eyebrow. “We can talk about it more, if you wish, after we complete the task,” he said, finally.

It was cunning and clever, using Ren’s natural desire for information about him like a dangling carrot, though he wondered if he’d be expected to reciprocate. And perhaps _that_ made him uneasier about tonight’s task than the task itself.

Everything felt different this time.

The lights were dimmed down to the lowest possible hue, and knowing what to expect this time, neither of them held the same sort of nervous tension they’d had the previous evening.

Ren had wondered if they were going to be given the same lingerie as last time; that same negligee that he’d torn from his arm in frustration and anger and humiliation—peering into the bag—the same garishly pink shopping bag as last time, with the same lavender tissue paper artfully scrunched around the contents—he realised, in a weird, chilling sort of way, that, no, they’d seemingly acquired another set of the _exact same thing_ he’d worn last night. Creepy, and weird, but still, in the grand scale of things, _all_ of this was creepy and weird. There was a small comfort in that they didn’t seem to be reusing items, at least, even if it suggested they were _extremely_ well funded—at least it suggested that the items for the medical style activities were sterile and that they hadn’t been using sex toys someone else in the other rooms had.

It was a strange source of relief, but there were so few of those he was prepared to accept the wins however they appeared.

Drying himself off as he stepped out of the shower, he pulled out the items of lingerie and frowned stoically. Not his kink, not Akechi’s kink, but still better than slicing into him, and they _had_ to do this. He ran a hand through his still-wet hair and refused to acknowledge his reflection in the mirror for longer than a split second.

The low lighting and Akechi sitting up on the bed, trying to not pay him too much attention but unable to look away, made this slightly more bearable. He still felt awkward, the flimsy artificial fibres of the garment still felt itchy and sticky against his skin, the lace and the thin ribbons still pressed against his shoulders and between his ass uncomfortably. How girls wore this stuff normally remained a deep mystery to him.

“Hey—” Akechi smiled slightly, his brown eyes wide and gently inquisitive. He was wearing one of those towelling bathrobes again, sans the belt, with the folds of the white cloth draped over him, almost like he was trying to emulate a sculpture of some ancient Greek god.

“Hey yourself,” Ren replied. Thankfully, Akechi was looking at his face, like he was desperate to not draw attention to the outfit. He sat on the bed next to Akechi, wondering just how things were going to play out this time, whether there was going to be any awkwardness around positioning themselves or perfunctory foreplay, until he felt hands grabbing him roughly and pushing him onto the mattress, Akechi’s mouth engulfing him in a kiss.

Well, _that_ was pleasantly unexpected. He felt his pulse race, and a twitch of interest down below, as Akechi descended upon him, greedily kissing him, one hand pinning his wrist down, the other cupping the side of his face. He wasn’t quite lying on _top_ of him, but was partially kneeling between Ren’s splayed legs, his bathrobe hanging open, the warmth from his body clearly obvious against him.

Trying to catch his thoughts as he was assailed with another kiss, rougher and deeper and _possessive_ , one thing was on his mind. _Maybe I do have submissive tendencies and you were right like you always are, and right now, I am completely okay with that._

“I have been thinking about this all day,” Akechi muttered against him, breaking the kiss, his breath skirting up somewhere near Ren’s left ear. “That maybe we could have tried some sort of vague dress rehearsal so we could test out positions and techniques—” He began kissing down Ren’s jawline, focused and deliberate, his voice husky, his breath warm, as he shifted his hand to push the sheer material of the negligee out of the way. “But I think that having some restraint and not doing any of those things was probably a better idea—it’s more fun this way, isn’t it?”

The noise that came out of Ren at that moment was something of a cross between a whimper and an incredulous moan of desire. He was embarrassingly hard already, his dick straining against the elastic and the faux satin barely covering his crotch.

“Are you agreeing with me?” He chuckled, his lips then making their way down Ren’s chest, flicking the material covering him out of the way, exposing pale bare skin before descending on it again with warm, languid kisses. It was remarkable how _strong_ he actually was; Ren knew he _should_ have known, he’d seen him in battle, there’d been little tells here and there, but it felt unexpected in a way, but not entirely at odds with the softness he was familiar with.

“Mmmm-hmmm.” A gasp escaped him as he felt teeth—not aggressive, but unexpected—pinching his nipple. He was a pulsing, burning mass of sensations at the moment, his body screaming out for more, his brain incoherent and distracted. He expected Akechi to shift over to the other nipple and repeat the process, but instead, he shifted lower, kissing down his abdomen, flicking the negligee out the way like it was some sort of irritation he cared to not even acknowledge, until he got to the elastic, tight against his hips and straining erection.

“It appears that you’re enjoying yourself?” He ran a finger under the elastic waistband, teasing him, leaving his cock bulging behind that thin layer of pale blue fabric. Ren twisted around to try and kiss him, to try and _touch_ him at least, but was pushed back onto the mattress crudely. He could feel one flat hand over his chest, absorbing his pulse and racing heartbeat.

“Please—” whined Ren, now reaching down to try and free himself from the confines of the thong.

“Not yet.” Akechi’s voice was cocky and firm, and he seemed to be enjoying himself. “You’re not telling me how to do this—only thing I need to hear from you is if I’m hurting you, and then I’ll stop.” He cupped a hand over the front of the thong. “This is _inconvenient_ , but I take it you’re not actually in any pain?”

Ren could feel a lump in his throat, a strange sort of fascinated, highly aroused kind of silence, but he nodded. He wanted the satisfaction and _release_ , but was also aware of the instructions set for the activity. Delay was imperative, or else they’d have to repeat the task. Not that _that_ was seeming like a problem to him at the moment.

He could feel precoma leaking from him now, wetting the small triangle of fabric covering him. Akechi pushed down on it, staring in a kind of fascination. “You’re insatiable.”

Ren whined slightly. _All your fault_.

“You need to behave yourself.”

“You need to hurry up and get on with it.”

“You—” Akechi shifted his hand down, a finger running over the moistened fabric and behind his balls, tucking the ribbon sitting over his perineum out the way—“have to keep your mind on the aims of the _task.”_

He waited only a moment as Akechi’s touch disappeared momentarily, and there was the now familiar sound of the bottle of lube being opened and squeezed. Ren felt another shudder of anticipation run through him, his body tighten involuntarily at the thought of them actually doing it again, and then some logical safety catch in his brain, his remaining rational thought that was functioning under the deluge of sensation, telling him to calm the hell down and relax.

Then he felt slick, moistened fingers gliding over his entrance, and he pushed himself towards them as Akechi gave a little satisfied laugh and leaned down against him, that hot breath hissing something incoherent but probably filthy against his ear as he pushed into him.

Ren closed his eyes; he probably _should_ have been mortified, but couldn’t be in this state; he writhed against the intrusion, his breath heavy and ragged, desperate now, simultaneously for both release and Akechi to just get on with it—

“Shhhh—I’m being _serious_ , Ren—I need you to relax—” There was that weirdly gentle urging from him, as he added a second finger and moved deeper within him. “You’re—” he trailled off into nothing, distracted, as he removed his hand and then shifted Ren against the bed—not _roughly_ as much as urgently. With a hand, he gently tilted Ren upwards, a thumb pushing the ribbon of the thong out the way as he gently pushed into him, and Ren felt the sharper, tighter stretch of his muscles accommodating his cock.

He was desperate to hurry up, to just _push_ himself onto Akechi; Akechi seemed desperate to move as cautiously as possible, probably much more sensibly, actually, which still didn’t ease the initial sting or the frustration.

And _then,_ he heard a breathy, almost _amazed_ moan—a solitary word _—“Fuuuuuuuck_ ” from Akechi before he started thrusting against him.

Ren settled into the rhythm, almost amazed that this was now happening for the second time today; vastly different to last time, and worlds away from the last time they’d attempted the task—everything before this morning now felt like an _age_ ago—and moaned as the tip of Akechi’s cock grazed tantalisingly close to his prostate. He arched into the movement, urging him, as he felt hot breath against his ear, his name being whispered huskily over and over, like the mantra of “Ren, Ren, Ren” had replaced every coherent thought Akechi had left and substituted his _breathing_ , and then he felt a hand on his crotch, pulling that stupidly tight elastic down, exposing his dick to the air before it was engulfed by one of Akechi’s hand and given a few apologetic strokes as he thrust in deeper.

And then Ren was just conscious of his pulse racing, a guttural, deep moan coming out from Akechi, and then lips against his as they leaned into one another, a tongue plunging into his mouth, and the satisfying explosion of his own orgasm against both of them as his body went into a shuddering frenzy.

He could have stayed like this all night, he’d thought at first. The night air around them felt warm and humiod, smelling of sweat and semen and his pulse hadn’t slowed at all; rather, he was kissing Akechi furiously; a combination of gratitude, arousal, sheer _amazement_ and—he realised after some rational thought had returned to him—excited relief.

Akechi broke the kiss, gingerly shifting himself away for a moment.

“That—” he said, catching his breath, a hand resting on Ren’s thigh reassuringly, “Was—” And he stopped there. Like he, with his extensive vocabulary, either couldn’t find, or decide upon the right word.

He turned back to Ren and kissed him again, a sloppy, lingering and much gentler kiss than earlier, and gave him a smile, his eyes glistening with a softened kind of triumph.

“I think we did it,” he said. He sounded very pleased with himself.

“I think—” Ren stopped himself. He was caught up in the moment and about to say something that would likely ruin things.

“I should probably get changed and we can return the stuff and the linen to the collection chamber,” he quickly amended.

Akechi nodded seriously. “If you’re having a shower, don’t use up all the hot water,” he said with a grin. He’d pulled the bath robe around himself again, in some strange show of post-coital modesty. The way his face looked, though, sweaty and flushed and yet _glowing_ , left nothing to the imagination.

Ren padded off to the shower, blissfully tired, and pleased with himself. When he returned, the bed was stripped and the kettle was boiling, and Akechi looked like he was pleased to be switching places. There was still a sort of giddy excitement on his face that Ren found charming, and a sort of contented silence in him.

Throwing his used towel, the lingerie and the bed clothes back on top of the trolley, he shut the door and began remaking the bed. It had become this weird, unspoken ritual now, and the idea of sinking into clean sheets, showered and contentedly exhausted next to Akechi, seemed like a nice way to finish off the evening.

Akechi didn’t spend very long in the shower, and appeared before Ren had even prepared any coffees.

“Did they give their verdict?”

“Nothing yet.” Ren glanced over at the television screen, and then at Akechi, who moved towards the kettle.

“I probably should have a green tea,” he said. “We should rest given all the… _exertion_ today and the task for tomorrow…”

Ren didn’t say anything; he was used to Akechi doing this; acting chillingly like everything was perfectly ordinary and nothing had happened between them.

“Assuming we passed—and we _did_ —we have three days left here.” There was something relieved and final in his voice. Ren wondered if it was the sense that this was going to be the last activity on that tier because the choking one was off the cards, and felt a pang of disappointment that now, they technically had _no reason_ to be intimate.

He just nodded in response, filling the two mugs with water.

“That reminds me, too,” Akechi said, “Since we _have_ completed the more… personal... tasks, we should probably look at reducing it to two now, by taking those ten points for making our feed available to the other rooms.”

Ren wasn’t sure what to say. Was this Akechi actually looking forward to getting out and away from him? Of course, he wanted to get out, too, but—

 _This isn’t fair_ , he admonished himself. Even wanting, for a second, this to last longer than it had to, solely so he remained trapped with Akechi in this artificial reality, was the _very_ thing he’d fought against with his friends when they went up against Maruki. Had this experiment warped the very core of who he was so much that now it… was something he hesitated on?

“We can horrify them with medical stuff but they’re not getting free live streamed porn from us, I guess,” Ren offered with a chuckle.

“Maybe they won’t be horrified though. Maybe it’ll help ease their fears and give them a sense of camaraderie and demonstrate that the tasks can be completed safely, though?”

“That’s very… _generous_ of you.”

“And _perhaps_ we can study the other rooms’ feeds, assuming they’ve released them—and see what awaits us in order to diminish the element of surprise and shock.”

 _Two_ days remaining. Two awful medical tasks stood between whatever they had going on right now and a return to an indifferent reality.

Ren hated to admit, that it now filled him with a sort of hesitation—and guilt and self-loathing—at feeling like that was no time at all left.

But he murmured a little yes as Akechi grabbed the tablet and sat down at the table. The light above the collection chamber turned on, and they waited, as Akechi flicked through to the opening menu with specification choices.

Before it loaded, though, the television flashed on, with its warm, friendly little “ding” and the congratulatory message.

They smiled at one another. Mutual triumph and relief, and a sort of _we earned it_ kind of _pride_ , in a way; before Akechi clicked on the menu to see what the next two tasks were.

Craning his neck to peer over, Ren was relieved to see that the choking option had now gone, and that the tasks had returned to two options.

He blinked. Akechi grimaced, a deep frown coming across his face, his eyes tight and furious.

“It’s okay,” Ren said. “Whatever that actually _is_ , I’ll do that instead of cutting you.”

“Like _hell_ you will,” Akechi snapped. “We’ve definitely approached the point of ‘the sex tasks have become dangerous.’”

“Wasn’t that the _last_ tier? The choking one?”

Akechi made an unimpressed noise and stared at the screen, ready to make the selection.

“Hey, wait,” Ren noted, rereading the tasks. “The second one says only _I_ have to do it. You don’t have to do _anything_. If you wanted to, you could just lie in bed while I do it in the bathroom since there’s cameras there. Or I could do it on the bed and you could go have a bath or something.” He shrugged. “I still prefer _this_ option to cutting you.”

“I don’t. It’s a safety concern.”

“You don’t know that,” Ren said. “And anyway, I’m a man of danger and daring feats, aren’t I? _One_ of these is _known_ harm. The other is just—”

“Out of your fucking mind,” Akechi snapped. “I’m not letting you do it.”

“But you want me to cut you.”

“ _Yes_.”

There was something in his voice then that sounded so desperate and pleading, so sad, that made Ren crumble. They’d had a good night, they should have been on an up, they were about to go to bed.

Numbly, and regretfully, he glanced at the listed tasks again.

_#1: Subject A must create an incision on Subject B’s body of at least 100mm in length and 8mm depth.  
#2: Subject B must wear the specified apparatus until the loss of consciousness results._

“I’m sorry, Ren,” Akechi said quietly. “Like you said, one’s a known quantity. Last time they told you to wear apparatus, it was awful. This could be just the choking one in a different form. I’m not doing that to you.”

Ren nodded. And pressed down on the first option, much as he _didn’t_ want to, because, he felt, after everything that had happened today, he _owed_ Akechi.

“Thank you.” There was warmth and relief in his voice as the tablet accepted their choice. “And… I’m sorry, Ren.”


	12. Day Ten: 71 pts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for blood/injury here.

Ren didn’t want to cut him.

 _Really_ didn't want to cut him.

And _this_ time, he came close to waiting for Akechi to fall asleep so he could do exactly what he’d done _last_ time the cutting task had been a likely outcome.

And now, he justified to himself, it was different. Only _he_ had to wear whatever apparatus it was (could you wear a… fucking machine? Some sort of ridiculous dildo? He wasn’t sure but whatever it was was probably embarrassing rather than _dangerous_ ), Akechi could be blissfully uninvolved. They’d talked about one task being of known injury, and the other being a completely unknown variable, but Ren compared them in another way: the tasks where Akechi got hurt and the task where Akechi _didn’t_ get hurt.

They’d crawled into bed without saying much; Ren hadn’t even finished his cup of tea. They were both tired in a strangely comfortable sort of way, this time; exhausted and sated in a way that felt quite nice. The lights were off, there were clean sheets around them, and yet… neither of them could sleep.

He vaguely remembered Akechi saying they’d talk about something after they completed the task, and yet they’d forgotten whatever that was, and lost in bliss, Ren had come painfully close to confessing something that he was terrified was going to ruin everything.

 _I think I’ve seriously fallen for him_.

And he’d stopped himself, because everything had been so perfectly nice, they’d been so _happy_ and relieved after getting through the task, he wasn’t going to ruin it.

He shuffled in the bed, half sitting up, and then heard Akechi’s voice.

“If you change that task, I’ll change my preferred release location to somewhere far, _far_ away from you and I will never talk to you again,” he said in monotone.

Like he could read his mind.

Not wanting to come up with some stupid excuse or explanation, Ren decided to pad through to the bathroom instead, pretending to use the toilet. It seemed that Akechi, unfortunately, knew him all too well.

When he returned to bed, he didn’t exactly _avoid_ him, but he also wasn’t welcomed back with open arms and the previous evening’s intimacy. He couldn’t help but wonder about that: was Akechi’s relief at least partially because _that_ side of their relationship was well and truly over now; they had three, possibly _two_ activities left, after this one, and there’d been the sort-of but not-quite unanimous decision to shift to the injury tier.

He wondered what would happen if he dared embrace Akechi again. Like he had last night, when he was so wholly unresponsive in that way that had been scary—somehow that—which was meant to be about a vague attempt at comforting him had turned into sex, and now—

It wasn’t _just_ the sex. Sure, his body was tingling with a sort of high alert frequency now; he’d tasted blood and was now subconsciously wanting _more._ That nervous reluctance had been replaced with an understanding that nope, it wasn’t _that_ big a deal, and it actually had felt kind of amazing—even if he still felt a bit sore at the moment—and he was lying here next to the only person he’d _really_ wanted to do anything sexual with in a long time. And they had two days left together like this. Why not make the time count for something?

It was the simple warmth and intimacy. It was Akechi’s body against his, it was his breath, his pulse, under his fingertips, it was those conversations they could only have the in the depths of the night under the cover of darkness. It was those tiny details that he gave away about himself. Ren found himself wondering who the finance guy had been again; was he typical of Akechi’s “type”? Did Akechi even _have_ a type? And then there was the discussion from earlier, which had almost faded into significance given everything else that had happened in the last twenty four hours.

If Akechi wasn’t just sarcastically mirroring his responses, there was a vague, unnerving suggestion that perhaps Ren’s interest in him hadn’t been _at all_ one sided.

And that was a lot to consider. Maybe it was easier to have what felt like a disappointing one-sided crush on someone perpetually unattainable. Maybe Akechi had felt the same way, though, too? They both aimed high and took daring risks, so falling for the _one_ person they shouldn’t have was only logical, right? But all that… was over now. The metaverse was gone, or their access to it was. Shido’s influence was gone. Even the confines of high school were gone. All that remained from that time in their lives were those thin strands of friendship, and memories of shared experiences. 

Akechi shuffled around in bed, stretching, and then turning over onto his right hand side, now facing him, and now a bit closer than he had been before. Ren wasn’t sure what to make of that; was it some kind of test? Was Akechi feeling horny after what had happened? He decided to take a risk, moving himself a bit closer to him, and reached over, draping an arm over his shoulders under the blankets. No reaction. No shirking him away, either, which was good, but no encouragement to do anything more.

He shifted closer again, leaning his face into the crook of his neck, the scent of the body wash in the bathroom and that unmistakably _Akechi_ scent he’d never really noticed before and couldn’t put a descriptor to filling his senses. Then he kissed him, softly and gently, his lips grazing across that soft skin, his other hand shifting up to cup his chin so he could move towards his mouth—

“No.” Akechi pulled away slowly.

Ren flinched back. That… _hurt_. And felt embarrassing. And it barely made sense given what had happened between them, what had been _discussed_ between them today; that one step forward, three steps back out of time waltz they seemed to be doing around one another was frustrating.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. He felt a warm hand clasp over his own, apologetic and gentle.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Akechi said quietly. “I just… don’t think it’s a great idea right now.”

Ren nodded, before realising that Akechi probably couldn’t see that. He mumbled what he hoped was at least a sound of acknowledgement.

“Given today’s discussions and the fact that we passed the most recent activity, I think continuing on like this would be unwise,” he said. His voice was laced with regret, and Ren couldn’t really follow his logic.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be.” It only made it worse that he sounded so reassuring and _nice_ about it all. “For one thing, we have a gruelling task ahead of us tomorrow—”

“I would prefer to change it to the one where only _I’m_ affected—”

“And I’ve explained that that isn’t possible,” Akechi said. “And what happens if we do that? And the next task on that tier gets even worse?”

Ren sighed. “What happens after cutting you?” he asked. “Even though I’ve _already_ cut you?”

“And I’m healing up and we can do it more safely than something where you have to lose consciousness. We haven’t done anything to _me_ for awhile. It’s not _fair_.”

Ren privately thought it wasn’t fair to make him retry the cutting task, either, but leaned against Akechi. He was surprised when he didn’t pull away, but felt a deep sigh ripple through him. He felt a hand snake underneath him, rubbing his shoulders in a way that felt affectionate rather than sexual.

“And for _another_ thing, I’m starting to think about it: if we get too used to living like this, it’s going to be harder to leave.”

“What do you mean by _that_?” Ren couldn’t believe it. He _desperately_ wanted to get out of here. To return to Tokyo, to see his friends, for the casual pleasures he’d never fully appreciated; being able to walk down the street to the secondhand shop from LeBlanc, jumping on a train and going fishing at the Ichigaya pond, spending an afternoon sitting and thinking at the shrine in Kichijoji. Just enjoying simple, normal freedom and spontaneity. 

“I mean,” Akechi said thoughtfully, “If the tasks start seeming impossible, I suppose spending an eternity here just eating delicious meals and having our laundry taken care of and not really having to _do_ anything except spend time in one another’s company won’t look like such a terrible consolation prize. And the longer we’re here, the easier it is to feel that escape is just some distant fantasy.”

Ren considered some of the longer term participants in the other rooms.

“I don’t think that would happen to us.”

“Nor do I… but it _could_.” He spoke seriously and softly. His hand hadn’t moved.

“I like you, Ren,” he said. “And I think it’s clear after today that there’s some degree of mutual attraction at least, and I wouldn’t mind considering… _considering_ that.”

Well, _that_ was a roundabout way of saying nothing concrete in a vaguely promising way.

“I just… don’t want _this_ to be a relationship with you. The two of us locked in a cage, forced to have something because there’s no other alternative and it’s good enough.”

Ren wasn’t sure he understood, and an anger flushed through him for a moment. “So you want to be able to leave when you feel like it.”

“I—” He sounded remorseful and flustered. “—I just think it would be far too easy to fall into a complacent pattern of just waking up and eating breakfast and having sex and playing chess and missing out on the rest of our lives. And I don’t think it’s fair to expect that of you.”

“So you want me to choose to be around, but you can choose to leave when you feel like it?” Ren sniffed. “That doesn’t sound particularly fair.”

“No—” Even though it was dark, Ren could _tell_ the _exact_ hangdog expression that he’d be wearing if the lights were to come on. “I never said I wanted to _leave_ you. But I despise the idea of us falling into this routine and convincing ourselves that it’s a life because it’s all we have.”

“So… you’re saying we can’t have superfluous sex any more?”

Akechi chuckled awkwardly. “I didn’t say _that_ , either, but there’s a real danger in falling into a pattern of learned helplessness and sacrificing free will because things are good enough.”

Ren shirked away, wondering if some part of him had been seen. If there was some subconscious desire for that which refused to give up Akechi as he’d had to on the eve of Maruki’s reality being destroyed.

“If you start quoting philosophers at me, I’m going to leave of my own accord,” he snapped. He hadn’t meant to sound vicious. It had sounded funnier in his mind. “You know, after I met you that day, I actually started reading a book about philosophy just because I had no fucking idea who Hegel was.”

Akechi chuckled nervously at that, at least.

“We could start talking about Durkheim’s views on anomie and suicide if you would prefer?”

Ren echoed the same nervous laugh then. Akechi _did_ make a reasonable argument.

“Look,” he said. “I… probably should be upfront with you. I don’t know what’s going to happen after this, but I don’t want to lose you. But I don’t want us to lose _ourselves_ in nihilistic hedonism _either_.”

Ren sucked in his breath. “We have three, maybe two days in here,” he said. “Assuming we manage to get through this and release the camera footage. So there’s, what, cutting you, possibly one more task after that, or the loss of consciousness one, and then we’re out?”

“Correct.”

“What are you planning on doing _afterwards_?”

“I’m… trying to not think that far ahead. I’d like to return to Tokyo and try to make sense of things, to be honest.”

The question of _Are you planning on going dark again?_ was on the tip of Ren’s tongue but unspoken. He knew what Akechi usually did, that in all likelihood, this was probably the last time he’d see him again. And he _wanted_ to say, _What about us_? but didn’t want to sound clingy by suggesting there _was_ an “us,” either.

“I don’t want my last memories of you being around hurting you,” Ren said quietly. He felt Akechi’s hand tighten around him in an uncomfortable hug. “And I’m sick of losing you.”

Akechi murmured uncomfortably. “Probably it was a good thing that we ceased the sex tasks here then. Ending them up on a reasonably pleasant note was a smart idea.”

Ren didn’t say anything. It was _stupid_ getting attached like this: the universe had repeatedly shown them that maybe they did like one another, but it was never going to happen between them. Part of him knew he should be grateful for as much as he’d had, for Akechi’s kindness and skill, but a selfish part of him wanted more.

But more than that, and as much as he realised he could stretch this out infinitely, he didn’t want to be Akechi’s jailor, either.

He flinched away at the realisation that when this was over, he was going to lose him, precisely because he loved him. At least he had a few days to mentally prepare himself at least. And at least he’d gotten closure on a few things which had been bothering him.

“How about another game of chess?”

They’d had breakfast, cleared everything away, and despite Ren’s lousy sleep the night before, and the growing sense of loss that he was desperate to force down, he was enjoying the relative peace between them. He wasn’t looking forward to everything that followed on from now, he realised, but was willing to suck whatever enjoyment from it that he could. A friendly game of chess, maybe some more conversation, some nice, tepid memories to dampen down the previous intensity at least, would be all right.

“Sure.” He put down his phone, swearing that in addition to the beach, he never wanted to look at that fucking match-three game ever again once he was out of here. A darker, more worried part of him was concerned that he’d irrecoverably ruined chess now, especially if he never saw Akechi again afterwards.

“Very well.” At least his voice sounded bright and airy. “Shall we play for confessions again?”

Suddenly, Ren didn’t care. He felt like he’d satisfied enough of his curiousity, and learning more about Akechi only meant forging a deeper connection, more interest, which all seemed kind of pointless now.

He nodded. Part of him was desperate not to bring the mood down; Akechi seemed so carefree and calm, and he knew it was unfair to ruin that, especially given what he was going to be doing to him this evening. He still wasn’t entirely sure _how_ he’d push though, but given what Akechi had pushed through, and given that he’d tried to complete the cutting task _last_ time, in a brutal way this felt like the fairer option.

He watched as Akechi set up the board.

“Do you have a preference?”

“No.” He disguised apathy behind a carefree smile.

“In that case, I’ll take black, I suppose.”

They set the board up in silence.

Ren barely thought as he shifted a queenside pawn out. It wasn’t a sloppy move, but an uninvested, indifferent one.

Akechi raised an eyebrow, saying nothing as he countered with a seemingly thoughtless, classic opening.

Ren returned by bringing out a knight, watching as Akechi brought down the pawn in front of his queen. Neither of them said a word, and the only sound in the room was the odd clink of pieces against the board every so often.

It was a strangely quick, but relatively bloodless game at first; Ren played loosely and carelessly, in a way that Akechi wasn’t familiar with. He was normally more deliberate and strategic than this. Even when he did reckless things, there seemed to be some _point_ behind them. None of it seemed to have any purpose or tactical value beyond confusing Akechi, who cautiously shifted his pieces, not doing anything _bold_ , wearing a puzzled expression as though he was either playing a grandmaster with a brilliant plan that he couldn’t see, or an idiot haphazardly trying to make pretty patterns on the board.

They were locked in this silent dance of chaos for half an hour, before Ren realised at some point too late that he was going to lose. He no longer cared about the reward, but losing was… irritating, and seeing Akechi with a clear upper hand, while _he_ was boxed in and noticing the small losses adding up. In some ways, it felt like a wonderful metaphor for what was going on around them.

“Check.” Akechi’s eyes sparkled a little too much in a way that was annoying. Studying the board, Ren realised he was all but out of options. The only _real_ moves available were to shift out of check, so Akechi could box him in some more and declare victory, while he flailed about like a fish struggling in open air.

He said nothing as he moved his king along.

“Check.”

And then moved it out of harm’s reach again, feeling the wall of the black pieces surrounding him. His time was up and he was running out of options.

“Check _mate_.”

He nodded. It was inevitable. It was all his fault. He hadn’t been firing on all cylinders, but it had served as a distraction at least.

“Now—” Akechi looked at the board, a clear triumph in his voice. “Shall I get us a drink?”

“Thanks—good game.” Ren felt himself smile weakly, as Akechi stood up to put the kettle on.

He cleared away the board and sat down as the kettle boiled, wondering _what_ Akechi was going to ask him. Asking him, when he’d had the chance to, about falling in _love_ had been unexpected, but he supposed he knew what was coming next. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but a rational, sensible part of him figured that if it served to put some distance between them in the last few days here, that was probably not a bad idea. He just hoped Akechi wasn’t going to react badly to the truth he’d managed to avoid talking about.

“So—” Akechi sat back in his chair after placing two cups of tea on the table. He stretched an arm behind his head and looked thoroughly pleased with himself—as he should have, Ren thought: it was his first outright win so far. He wondered if the tables had turned, if Akechi had been playing poorly earlier due to his own anxiety about the tasks, and now he was in the clear, he was in a good mood, and feeding off Ren’s malaise.

“What shall I ask you?”

“Whatever you’d like to, I guess.” He was trying desperately to keep his voice upbeat and even.

“Mmmm.” Leaning forward, Akechi studied his face carefully. “There are actually a range of things I’d like to ask you,” he said with an overly interested smile. “But—all right—” He sipped his tea, carefully watching Ren’s expression. “You asked me questions about _my_ intimate history, time to retaliate, I suppose.”

Ren tried smiling awkwardly.

“What was your first time like?”

He’d expected it. He knew it was coming, and at least—a small mercy—he now _had_ a ‘first time’ to speak of, and part of him wondered if he could be vague enough to not tip Akechi off that it had only been less than thirty six hours ago.

“That’s… personal.”

Akechi chuckled. “Did you honestly _think_ , Ren, that I was going to let you off lightly after you asked what my _kinks_ were?”

“I suppose not.”

Akechi looked absolutely _thrilled_. Edge-of-his-seat excitement, though whether it was from the win and the position he was in now, or just the chance to learn something—or to prove himself right on a theory—Ren couldn’t ascertain. He sucked in his breath. “It was really good, actually.”

“Oh,” said Akechi. “That’s good to hear.” He said it in a completely unsatisfied manner, the same one Ren had used in response to being told that Akechi was into trendy cafes and bike riding. “Care to elaborate?”

“Not specifically.”

“Fair enough. But you’re selling me short with a simple answer like _that_.”

“I don’t know what else you want or need to know.” Ren blinked, and the expression on his face hardened ever so slightly. “It’s not really any of your _business_ ,” he said.

“Well, I wasn’t asking for names or dates or anything, just an overall explanation. I’m glad it was good though.” He looked slightly awkward. “I think most people say it was uncomfortable or awkward or regrettable in some fashion. Or at least, that’s what you tend to hear.”

“No, nothing like that,” Ren said. He could hear his voice hitching as he spoke, assuming that he was as transparent as polished glass. “I was into him, he was into me, he seemed to know what he was doing and it was… great.”

He waited for Akechi to give an annoyingly self-satisfied smile, but he looked confused and mildly horrified instead. “This was back home, wasn’t it? I didn’t realise you’d actually done _all that_ with your senpai. I was under the assumption you’d just been caught making out with him.”

“Oh, god no.” Ren felt his face turn red, trying to consider what the repercussions would have been like if they’d actually been having sex when they’d been busted. The rumours about him were bad enough over some relatively innocent making out.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I assume it was more recent than that then?”

“ _Yes_.”

Then Akechi got a cautious, weird look on his face. “I… realise it’s none of my business,” he started to say, his slow, calm tempo speeding up, “Though it actually sort of _is_ if it involves me—it wasn’t _two days ago_ recent, was it?”

It was the drop from a height that Ren knew to expect. He didn’t need to answer; he could feel the sweat prickling on the back of his neck, his face reddening profusely now, and his eyes shift away from Akechi’s uncomfortably.

“For _fuck’s sake_ , Ren.” He looked incredulous and angry. “You could have at least _said something.”_

Ren stared at him in horror, trying to ascertain whether he was furious or shocked. Maybe some combination of both.

“Did you consider _that_ might have been why we had such a hard time with the lingerie task? Not just because of the humiliation aspect but because something as perverse and revolting as _that_ shouldn’t be someone’s first time?”

Ren felt himself flinch into his chair. This was _precisely_ why he _hadn’t_ told Akechi. At least he could accurately predict his responses to things, though.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He was yelling now, in a kind of frustrated rage that didn’t seem at all fair.

“ _You_ never told _me_ about _your_ history, so why should _I_?” Ren snapped back. “You’re just being hypocritical.”

“Hypocritical? _You’re_ the one who made it sound like you trusted me, but didn’t tell me _that_. At least I never told you I trusted you.”

That was, unfortunately, fair. Akechi had pointedly said that he didn’t trust _anyone_.

“Your words didn’t line up with your actions,” Ren snapped. “Or was telling me you were into me a load of crap as well?”

Maybe, just _maybe_ , it would be easier to walk away from this if that was the case. He could return to Tokyo, Akechi could disappear out of his life for _good_ , at _last_ , and he could share drinks with Ryuji at LeBlanc and they could laugh over Akechi’s control freak tendencies and completely miscalculating the situation between them.  
  


Except, he realised …he didn’t quite want that either.

A more likely series of events was Ryuji or Sojiro eventually getting him to admit what happened, and then either of them threatening to hurt Akechi very badly for breaking his heart if he ever bothered reappearing. Ryuji would probably include some choice vocabulary, Sojiro some sage advice under some degree of awkwardness, but yet again, it would be his friends comforting him and trying to make him realise he was cared about.

“Oh, so _now_ you try to use emotional blackmail to divert the attention,” Akechi sneered.

“ _No_. Fuck you.” Ren stood up, pushing his chair out from behind him. “I have _every_ right to question your motivation after this, especially since you’re acting like _me_ not telling you _one private thing_ is some sort of big deal.” He was shaking as he spoke. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to get some sort of reassurance or just be hit with a deluge of aggression and abuse which would at least make getting over Akechi a _whole_ lot easier.

Akechi glared at him like Ren had just _spat_ at him. “ _How_ can I be expected to trust someone who can’t even be honest with me?” The tone in his voice was obnoxious. _I told you I don’t trust anyone._

“You weren’t honest with _me_ and I never interrogated you about it, did I? I asked you about the finance guy, and when you said that was none of my business, I dropped it.”

“Has it occurred to you—” Akechi snapped angrily—“That the only reason we’ve been able to tolerate one another is _because_ there are darker things in my history I’ve kept a lid on, Ren? Or do you really want me to be completely honest with you?”

“ _Yes_ —”

“So you genuinely want to hear about exactly _what_ I had to do to ingratiate myself with Shido’s elite? How _dumb_ I had to play? How many people I killed on the other side? How I came to fucking _relish_ walking around Mementos like some kind of apex predator, all but getting off whenever I bloodied my hands or tortured someone?” He stood up, pushing his chair back angrily and forcefully enough for the legs to screech against the floor. “You _don’t_ want that. _No one_ wants that.” His voice was a furious hiss. “From what you described to me, you lot could barely deal with the fact that Futaba was suicidal because of things she only _thought_ she’d done.”

Akechi’s glare was intense and furious, his sneer something between utmost rage and disbelief. “Have you _ever_ considered, in that myopic, stupidly naïve, eternally optimistic mindset that you have, that _perhaps_ my inclination towards something _less_ than brutal naked honesty is precisely because _I_ don’t know how to live with the knowledge of things I’ve done, let alone feel the need to _share_ those joyous occasions with other people?”

His eyes were blazing with that same, hot blooded rage Ren remembered after their Mementos battle.

Ren didn’t know what to say. He remained standing, his body twitching as though prepared for battle. How the _fuck_ had a game of chess somehow turned into _this_? Everything had been so civil.

“So you’re going to push me away by assuring me you’re a monster again, are you?” Ren snapped. Unimpressed sarcasm had crept into his voice. “As though we haven’t seen that one before. Or you’re going to try and convince me that your life doesn’t matter. Again, seen it.” He was shocked at how calm he sounded. “Or maybe you’re just going to tell me that you hate me.” It was all making sense to him as he was saying it, realising. “That one didn’t work _either_.”

“There is _so_ much you don’t know about me, Ren,” Akechi hissed. “Your idiotic notions of attachment and love are for a _persona_. A mask. A bullshit _act_ that I have to put on in order to navigate the world. You’re no better than one of those pathetic fangirls stalking my blog and asking for selfies with me.”

That one… actually hurt.

“Every time,” Ren spat, “Someone gets _remotely_ close to you, you lose your shit. Have you ever noticed _that_? You find it easier to push people away who might care about you by being awful and deliberately antagonistic and then convincing yourself that they hate you.” His voice was rising. “You want to talk about _philosophers_ and social theorists? How about Merton’s self-fulfilling prophecy?”

Akechi was still glaring at him.

“And when you don’t know how to deal with that or lose the energy for it, you disappear and leave everyone else to pick up the pieces.”

“Oh, stop being melodramatic.”

“You _do_ though. Here you are talking about noticing patterns in human behaviour, and you’re as predictable as they come. Though I suspect most people don’t actually get multiple chances with you, so they never notice the same thing happening repeatedly.”

Akechi didn’t reply. He glared at Ren with that familiar cold loathing; that same fixated stare Ren remembered from Shido’s palace.

_He was wounded then, humiliated and vulnerable and exposed and—_

_Fuck him. Like Morgana said, he was just like a little kid throwing a tantrum._

_He can’t help it. He’s had absolutely no healthy role models and been expected to carry himself like an adult from when he was a kid. He doesn’t know_ how _to be healthy and anyone getting close to him is terrifying._

_And this gives him the right to lose his shit because you didn’t lay your life bare for him and tell him all your secrets, Ren? Even though he pointedly laughed at you for trusting him?_

_Maybe he’s really fucked up about intimacy in addition to everything else he’s really fucked up about._

_That still doesn’t give him the right to treat me like this._

“Maybe you’re right,” Ren said angrily. “Maybe I was in love with a persona. Maybe I wasted my time on someone I knew was permanently unavailable because it was easier chasing a ghost than actually letting _my_ self get close to someone.”

“This isn’t _love_.” Akechi cackled then, deranged and chaotic. “You _have_ heard of trauma bonding, haven’t you?”

Ren ignored him. “You know what, though?” he snarled. He could feel a lump forming in his throat. “At least I—and all my _friends,_ come to think of it—despite the shit we’ve been through and all the reasons we have not to trust anyone—at least we still managed to. You act like you’re so much smarter and better than any of them, and yet every _single_ one of them is much more emotionally astute than you are.”

“Well _go back to your friends_ ,” Akechi snapped. “Let’s get the last two tasks done, and combined with the ten points for sharing the video, we can get the hell out of here and pretend none of this ever happened.”

As if to make his point, he walked over to the television unit and grabbed the tablet.

Shell shocked, the lump in his throat hurting now, his face tense and his eyes threatening angry tears ( _I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry_ ), Ren just stared at him from his spot at the table. He felt like he’d been slapped. Of everything Akechi had done—and had he _really_ done some rotten things—in some ways, this was the worst, hitting him somewhere lower and softer than he usually aimed for.

He remembered Akechi’s words about how maybe they’d have destroyed one another if they had hooked up. This conversation, now he considered it, was most likely inevitable. Things just developed more quickly and intensely, magnified and hothoused in the enclosed space and this crazy experiment.

It should have felt like a relief, realising that, but it irritated Ren deeply: why the fuck did Akechi always have to be right about everything, anyway?

He didn’t return to his seat, and back turned to Ren, poked at the tablet’s screen impatiently, before screaming an expletive and throwing it angrily on the floor.

“What?” Ren asked.

“We don’t have that option any more,” Akechi snarled back. “They reduced the reward for it.” His voice was sharp but returning to normal. “Probably incrementally, most likely. At this stage, we can earn a measly _three_ points for disclosing our video feed to the other participants.”

It felt like in addition to being slapped in the face, Ren had _also_ been kicked in the chest when he heard that. Somehow that ace up their sleeve, that suggestion of ten extra points, to shave a day off this hellish vacation, remaining available at their leisure, should they decide to be brave enough to share their footage, had been pulled from beneath them. And they’d been too caught up in… everything else… to pay much attention to it.

“Fuck,” Ren hissed.

Akechi said nothing and stormed off to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, as Ren’s gaze shifted across the floor miserably. All that had stood between them tolerating this and not, was him losing a game of chess because he was unfocused.

He heard the muffled running of water behind the closed door, and assumed that Akechi was filling the bath. And anger and panic coursed through him: were there any electrical items in there? There was a packet of disposable razors in the cabinet above the sink, actually, which neither of them had needed to use since coming here. Akechi’s reference to Futaba’s state of mind when they’d found her was worrying, even though _he’d_ never actually seemed suicidal himself. It was more like he just drifted about, indifferent to being alive or otherwise, rather than actively thinking about his own demise or making serious plans for it.

“Akechi?” Ren was _still_ angry—and hurt, he couldn’t help but admit to himself— but he sure as hell didn’t want that to be their last conversation. Nor did he want to think of him harming himself. And a guilty part of him considered that if he _did_ kill himself, the experiment would end, and he’d be free to go home and see his friends—for the price of Akechi’s life.

Angrily, he considered that it was exactly the sort of shitty, manipulative, completely head-fucky thing Akechi _would_ do, too, even if it was just his own rage wanting to imagine the worst. Make him _completely_ unable to get attached to anyone else ever again because with that would come the memories of _this_.

He sat down on the end of the bed and wondered what to do. Mental health experts always said to tell someone if you were worried about a friend being suicidal; he had no one to tell who gave a shit. And he didn’t (even if the mental health experts said it was better to save a life and piss someone off indefinitely) want to somehow make this entire situation any worse.

“Akechi?” Still no answer, though it sounded like the water had stopped. Ren wasn’t sure how much noise was muffled in there, anyway, or if he’d even hear Akechi opening that packet of razors if that’s what he was doing.

He picked up the tablet and clicked on the menus, barely paying attention until he looked at the other rooms. Room Number Five was no longer displaying any information. Had they completed their tasks and been freed? Had someone else died? Had they even been released? Not knowing made it all the more unnerving and depressing rather than a cause for hope. Tossing the tablet back on the bed, and relieved that Akechi hadn’t, say, stomped on it or cracked the screen when he threw it on the floor, he walked to the bathroom door and knocked. If Akechi didn’t reply, he would walk in, grab the razors, and walk out, and Akechi could spend the rest of the afternoon brooding in there if he wanted to. Provided there were no lethal items in there with him.

No reply. Ren inhaled deeply, and twisted the door handle open, frowning.

  
It was steamy and quiet, and smelled vaguely like a bath house. Ren had instinctively glanced at the shower, startled to notice it empty, and then turning his attention to the bath on the opposite side: Akechi was half lying, half sitting up in it, his right arm draped along the edge. _Bathing probably isn’t good for that bandage on his thigh_ , Ren found himself thinking, taking in the imperious face glaring at him and the silence. The water was past his shoulders, rendered opaque and milky with some of the luxury bath products supplied by the hotel.

“ _Yes_?” He did _not_ sound pleased that Ren had appeared.

Ren didn’t say anything, overcome with a combination of emotions, desperate to not make the situation worse. He ignored him, opening the cabinet above the hand basin, relieved that the razors hadn’t been touched, grabbed them, and silently went back into the bedroom.

Maybe it was the smart thing to do. Perhaps soaking in the bath—and Ren had to admit, it _did_ look good and smelled enticing, actually—was something of a comfort ritual for Akechi, and even if they hadn’t been throwing verbal attacks at one another, it was probably a good idea for him to do that before tonight’s task anyway.

Three days. Two more tasks after this one, and some part of him was mentally running through what he had to do tonight. At least there wouldn’t be—hopefully—that awful sensory overload of unexpected smells and textures this time. He didn’t _like_ it, but he didn’t have any other options, and things had deteriorated to such an awful point that they just _had_ to push through now because being trapped in here together was no longer a viable option.

He wondered what the next task on the tier would be, and tried to consider at what point he’d be point blank refusing, opting for unconsciousness voluntarily. He was hurt and angry and some small part of him wanted to hurt him back… but not really. And he knew when it came to _actually_ having to do it, it would be a different story.

Maybe there’d be some weird respite: he figured he could probably pierce an ear or an eyebrow or something, or probably mess around with tattoo equipment. He smirked at the idea: Akechi would never agree to being tattooed, and he’d made it abundantly clear that he didn’t _trust_ Ren, so if the next task was tattooing, then he’d definitely be able to do the unconsciousness one instead.

He felt almost _smug,_ and trying to ignore that Akechi was still in the bathroom, he tidied the main area, remade the bed, and made himself a cup of tea, settling down to some games of that godforsaken match-three game on his phone. It felt like there was nothing to do literally or figuratively.

Akechi appeared some time later, looking refreshed and entirely aloof as he padded through to the table, not even giving Ren a nod of acknowledgement. He didn’t comment on Ren removing the razors (Ren had shoved them in a pile of laundry that had gone into the collection chamber hamper), and he was privately relieved. He’d been half-expected a nasty jibe about Ren being annoying for being concerned, or melodramatic or something else.  
  


Dinner was grilled fish again, accompanied by steamed vegetables over rice. Once again, beautifully presented and delicious, but Ren privately felt like they could have been fed gruel and it wouldn’t matter. He’d previously thought of being able to at least talk about the food with Morgana and Ryuji, but it occurred to him then—the thought of just eating some LeBlanc curry, the smell of coffee lingering around him, that warmth—both literal and emotional—around him— _that_ was what he was really hungering for. And whatever these chefs could do here, they wouldn’t be able to replicate that.

Akechi ate his meal cautiously, watching Ren, his eyes moving from his plate to Ren’s face like he was awaiting another heated argument.

Ren ignored him. No use in engaging with a _persona_ , was there? He was a _person_ , not part of an audience participation exercise. Akechi could get validation from someone else, for all he cared.

Finally, he put his chopsticks down.

“Ren?”

With a mouthful of rice impeding speech, Ren just looked at the wall behind him.

Akechi sighed quietly, his eyes downcast and hurt, which somehow started reigniting the anger Ren had managed to exorcise earlier on. He wasn’t going to give him the _satisfaction_ of steering the conversation. He wanted things to be uncomfortable, and he’d _made_ them uncomfortable. He didn’t have the right to decide he needed entertainment just because he was bored now, or wanted things to be breezy and pleasant because of the task.

Ren _still_ didn’t want to cut him. He was tempted to change the activity, solely to piss off Akechi, and wrestled with the idea mentally. The one thing which stopped him was the highly plausible notion of dying, and then his friends somehow catching wind of it later on. They were all smart enough to put the pieces together, and the post-mortem humiliation of “went on holiday with Akechi, stayed longer and died from auto-erotic asphyxiation” was something he didn’t want _them_ to have to deal with, either.

“Ren?” His voice sounded soft and broken.

Ren simply ignored him, continuing to eat his dinner. He finished, and without even acknowledging Akechi, took his plates and cup through to the collection chamber, leaving them on the trolley. When he closed the door, he kicked off his shoes and lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Other than the soft sounds of Akechi eating coming from the table, the room was chillingly silent.

“Ren, we need to talk.” His voice was so sensible and smug that it was _irritating_. And anyway, they’d talked _more_ than enough for the day. Hell, for the remainder of their stay here.

And god, it was so _tempting_ to snap back with some sort of devastating insult, but doing that would _still_ be allowing Akechi to get what he wanted, which was attention and a response. _Screw him_ , Ren thought to himself, wondering how recently the hotel was last cleaned or painted because there wasn’t a single speck of dirt or wear or a strand of spiderwebs against that off-white paint, _only time I’ll give him attention is when we’re doing these stupid tasks._

“Look—” There was remorse in his voice, or at least a pretty decent impersonation of it. Maybe Ren was distracted by it and perhaps his gaze flickered over towards Akechi for a nanosecond before returning to the ceiling—“I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not. You realise that it’s in your interest to apologise right now. Saying sorry is just your way of securing a desired response from me.” He hated that his will power was snapped in half by a half-arsed, flimsy apology like that. “You’re just playing the role you think I _want_ to see.” Turning his attention to Akechi completely, but still lying on the bed, he continued. “Don’t waste your time, I didn’t come to see a show.”

“I—know—” Akechi’s voice wobbled awkwardly. “I deserved that.”

“Yep.” Glancing at the television screen, Ren noticed the time in the bottom corner. “You probably should clear up your dinner if you’re done so they can give us the stuff for the task.”

Akechi nodded, standing up, as though grateful to have something to at least respond to.

“I wonder if it’ll be easier to do it to a _persona_. Rather than, you know, someone I thought I had a genuine connection with.”

There was the sound of china on the steel of the trolley, and Akechi emerged, closing the door behind him.

“I probably deserved that too.”

Ren shrugged.

When the light to the collection chamber switched off, Ren looked over from his position on the bed, and sucked in his breath. He still _really_ didn’t want to do this, and the arrival of the trolley made him feel like he was boxed in, unable to shift now, like his course was already determined. Would he fuck up again? He didn’t want to think so, but suspected it might be a possibility.

 _I thought it would be easier if you were angry with me_. Well, Akechi had been wrong about that, hadn’t he?

Akechi didn’t move. He stood up from his chair, and grabbed an armful of towels stacked near their bags, and walked through to the bathroom. Ren suspected that meant he was wanting to do it there; it made sense in a way, it was easier to clean up, right?—and he steeled himself, opening the chamber door.

He’d half expected to be confused by equipment he hadn’t seen before, like Akechi would have underhandedly turned the tables on him, but the trolley contained the same familiar things: the disinfectant, the gloves, that scalpel, the camera, the dressings—as it had previously. _Fuck_.

Dragging it out, he wheeled it through into the bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind him. It seemed ironic that earlier in the afternoon he’d removed the razors from the bathroom so Akechi wouldn’t cut himself, only to be wheeling the trolley back into the bathroom to be doing just that to him right now.

When he got there, Akechi was seated on the toilet, lid closed down, his right arm leaning on the toilet paper holder affixed to the wall. He’d pulled his sleeve up and was silent, but watching Ren expectantly, a strange mixture of hurt and awkwardness on his face. The bathroom still smelled of the heady, woodsy scent of whatever he’d used in the bath earlier.

The wheels of the trolley barely made a sound as Ren moved over to him.

“Okay, I was thinking about this; we should probably cut my arm.”

Ren raised an eyebrow. The bruising on Akechi’s elbow had dulled away to a faint yellow stain, but Ren still didn’t like the idea.

“No,” he said. He hoped Akechi didn’t just assume he wanted an argument. “I don’t want to.”

“I _think_ it’s my decision, actually.”

“There’s nerves and veins and stuff in there,” Ren said tepidly, trying to keep his voice even. “Not to mention, a cut like _that_ on your arm is going to look self-inflicted, and if it scars then you won’t be able to wear a short-sleeved shirt.”

“That isn’t your concern.”

“It _is_.” His voice held no room for an argument. “You pushed me into this task, you don’t get to decide what my concerns are.”

“Very well.” Akechi sounded oddly agreeable. “What do you propose we do then?”

Ren looked over him, his eyes flickering back onto the trolley as he assessed the implements on offer. He’d read the instructions last time, so he knew what he was supposed to do, but suddenly wanted to look at them again. Then there was the part of him that just wanted to get this done as quickly as possible, worried that the longer he hesitated, the more likely he was to freak out and throw up again.

“There are less nerve endings and thicker skin on your legs,” he said. He glanced down at Akechi’s legs.

“Apparently the soles of your feet have the thickest skin in the human body. I remember reading that somewhere.”

“What, so you spend the next however long unable to _walk_? Or risk me hitting some tendon that permanently cripples you? Not doing that.” He could feel his voice shaking. “How about you put some towels down on the floor and lie on them and I do this on the back of your thigh?”

Akechi frowned, but stepped up from the toilet and shook out a couple of the folded towels. Laying them down, he then stepped back and slipped off his pants awkwardly. “I suppose the gluteal region has less nerve endings and there’s more fat there which—”

“I am _not_ cutting your ass,” Ren muttered. _No._ That would be too weird. “Leave your underwear on.”

Akechi nodded, nudging his slacks to the side, and lay down on the towels.

Ren could feel the tension building in him again. He felt like he was under water, like everything that had happened earlier in the day was muted and far away, that all he could focus on was _this_ , and Akechi lying face down on the floor, an absurd human sacrifice. “At least you don’t have to see it if I do it like this anyway,” he said. With that came the realisation that he’d be solely responsible for all of it; doing it to the task specifications, cleaning it up, dressing the wound afterwards. He remembered all the blood from last time; cutting his inner thigh had probably been a bad idea, in hindsight. Not that this was much better.

He took everything off the trolley and rested it on the floor next to where he assumed he’d be sitting, and walked to the sink to wash his hands. There was a set order to this: wash hands, put the gloves on, wipe down the skin, measure out the cut—he could feel his heart racing uncomfortably.

Returning to Akechi, he glanced down at where he was expected to make the cut. It still felt dangerous and ridiculous; it wasn’t like he had anything in the way of fat protecting his thighs, either, but he supposed this was like everything else in this hellish experiment: taking the lesser evil of a series of bad options. Still, unconsciousness felt like the better option right now. His fingers trembled as he picked up an alcohol wipe and ran it over the bare skin.

He could hear Akechi breathing softly, probably as nervous as he was. He had to get this over and done with as quickly as possible for both of them, he realised. Before either of them lost their nerve, freaked out, or threw up. He desperately wished he had that… _whatever it was_ … that allowed Akechi to switch off and just hurt people methodically and efficiently. He didn’t, and as he pressed the ruler against him, dragging that pen along in a line which pulled and blotted, bleeding tiny spills of black ink into the minute valleys of his skin, he realised he probably never would.

They were two completely different people.

He exhaled, wetting a piece of gauze with the strong-smelling antiseptic liquid. It left a yellow streak over the pen mark, which now seemed a whole lot longer than he’d remembered ten centimetres being. He gulped.

Akechi was lying there in almost silence, as though he was focussing on something else. It was probably uncomfortable, being on the bathroom floor like this, but the only way to end that would be to just _fucking do this_ and get it over with.

He looked at the scalpel in its little clear, sterile plastic bag, and switched on the camera which bleeped cheerfully. If he could set all this up so there’d be minimal fuss once he’d made the cut, he could clean and dress the wound swiftly afterwards. That’s what this was reduced to, minimising the hurt. Speed, efficiency, and endurance.

He wanted to ask Akechi if he was okay, to give him the option to back out. But Akechi was silent and still, like some part of him had completely dissociated, and Ren suspected that was _his_ way of getting through this. Breaking his concentration or whatever it was could be their undoing.

Still, he wanted to give him some sort of warning.

He’d already mentally prepared himself for the way the blood would quickly appear, in angry red beads along the line. He’d decided to try and push the scalpel in as deep as he thought he needed to, hopefully minimising the need for a second cut. And he’d already decided his focus would be on the movement and the next part of the task, not looking back in horror at the mess he was making.

Was that how Akechi had felt when he was in the interrogation cell? Just focussing on the next part of the job, detaching from the immediate sense of revulsion and horror at what he was doing? He hated that he was thinking about this _now_ , and opened the package containing the scalpel, careful to not let the blade pull against the plastic: he needed it as sharp and ready as possible.  
  
He hoped the sound of the plastic was enough warning for Akechi, and discarded the packaging off to the side somewhere. Then he wiped over the slide with disinfectant, looking at the distinct eight millimetre measurement, trying to gage the depth he needed to press in the scalpel. He felt sick, once again, but he _had_ to do this.

He was grateful that Akechi was silent. He’d half expected a sarcastic comment or an impatient, _Oh, get on with it_ , but thankfully, there was nothing. He could feel the warmth and pulse under his gloved fingertips as he pulled the skin taut and then pressed in with the point of the scalpel.

Akechi twitched, a pained hiss coming from him that made Ren instinctively want to stop. But the key to this was _not_ stopping, continuing to pull the scalpel along the line at the same depth, ignoring the blood that was starting to appear through the cut and that was pooling behind the path he’d made.  
  
Maybe the whole thing took seconds. It felt like it was taking hours. By the time he’d reached the end of the line, Akechi was breathing heavily, there was a twitch under his skin like some part of him had gone into a kind of shock that he was trying to suppress.

When he pulled the scalpel away, trying to not look at the wound, desperately hoping he’d cut deep enough, a wave of nausea now moving through him, he grabbed the slide, and gently parted the cut to push it in.

He felt Akechi shift ever so slightly, and a strange sense of relief when he saw that it seemed to _sink_ into the cut, and that the blood appeared to be obscuring any tissue or fat or whatever that other squishy stuff was that he’d heard about in science classes that he wasn’t really paying attention in, and had absolutely no interest in looking at.

Wiping away the blood on the edge of the wound, trying desperately to ignore the sticky redness on his gloves, he could feel his vision shifting, a blurry blackness creeping into the edges.

He _had_ to get through this. He could black out later on. The irony of possibly fainting at _this_ was absurdly funny, especially given the task they could have chosen.

He grabbed the camera, pointed it in the direction of the bleeding mess, a hand stilling Akechi’s thigh, and pressed the shutter release button, hoping that it would be enough to satisfy the researchers. The “snap” of the camera seemed to signify to Akechi that it was over, and he made a funny little whine, shifting again as Ren removed the slide and with one hand, pressed the edges of the wound together, wiping it with the disinfectant to clear away the blood with the other.

The realisation of just how _much_ blood there was was starting to occur to him, and, task completed, it felt like his body was starting to respond to the stimuli around him. The coppery, meaty smell of the blood, that blunt, sickly tang of disinfectant, the hardness of the tiles under his knees, the vague, normally pleasant woodsy smell of the bath still lingering somewhere in the distance. He felt sick, but he had to keep going. The bleeding would only stop when he’d put that thin film of clear stuff over the wound and bandaged it.

“Are—you done--?” Akechi’s voice was controlled but uneasy, like _he_ was feeling faint, too.

“Mmm.” Ren focused on getting the dressing out of its wrapper, gave the cut one last wipe, ignoring the stickiness pretty much entirely covering both gloves now, and pulled it over the wound, hoping it was the right degree of tight enough but not too tight.  
  


It looked disgusting, and he hadn’t managed to wipe _all_ the blood away, but at least it was covered. A small rivulet of blood dribbled out from a bubble under the film, and he pressed a new wipe against it.

“Don’t move,” he said quietly, hoping he didn’t sound bossy or stressed, the sense of nausea bubbling in him again. He ripped off the bloodied gloves and grabbed the package containing a roll of bandaging gauze. Gently lifting under Akechi’s thigh, and grateful that Akechi seemed to be cooperating, he wound it around the whole mess, hoping he’d done a decent job. He’d done a first aid class at school years ago, but hadn’t really used any of it. Affixing a small clip to secure the bandage, he pulled away, the heat and nausea getting too much for him, and closed his mouth desperately as he shifted to the toilet to be sick.

“Ren—”

All he could feel was vomit violently racing out of his throat and into the toilet bowl, the acrid taste of bile in his mouth and seeping into his teeth. Akechi’s voice seemed so far away, and pained. “Ren--?”

The blacking out at the edges of his vision overtook everything, and his head was spinning. He tried to shake it away, stepping back once he thought he’d finished being sick, and then turned back to look at the mess behind him.

Akechi was sitting up, now, amongst bloodied towels and bits of rubbish; he barely registered any of it.

“Hey—Ren—are you okay?” Concern. That’s all he heard, warm, worried concern. And then he felt arms around him, gripping him tightly, a frantic pulse against his body, holding him there, warm and uneasy and terrified.

And the silence of everything, which seemed to engulf the entire room, the blackness fading in once more, and then nothing.

When he opened his eyes, he could see the white tiling on the side of the bath, and wondered where he was. The surface he was lying on felt cool and hard, and everything smelled of that awful yellow disinfectant. He blinked, looking around before groggily standing. He’d been lying on the bathroom floor, a dishevelled towel with bloodied fingerprints had been resting under his head, and all the mess in the bathroom, and the trolley he’d brought in, had mysteriously vanished. He felt overwhelmingly exhausted now, and blinked at the state of the room before making his way to the hand basin, brushing his teeth, and then heading out into the main bedroom.

Akechi was sitting at the table, and it was all so alarmingly normal. He’d thrown a bathrobe over his t-shirt, and he’d made tea. He had the tablet in front of him and was looking at it. The light outside the collection chamber was off.

“Oh. There you are.” He sounded far too casual. “We passed the task,” he said. Was there a hint of something else in his voice?

“I—”

“You blacked out after being sick and I left you in there, but I cleaned up everything,” Akechi explained. It was surreal how _at ease_ he sounded.

Ren didn’t really know how to respond. A quiet “thankyou” made its way out of his mouth.

He joined him at the table, noticing that he had placed a folded towel on the base of his seat, which made him look taller.

“How are you feeling?”

“Well… I could _lie_ and say I’m fine, but I don’t think you’d want to hear that,” he said softly. “It hurts a bit, especially if I move my leg. And I still feel a little bit light headed, to be honest… at least I wasn’t throwing up, though.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No—” He sounded deeply apologetic then. “No, Ren, _I’m_ sorry. I truly regret putting you through that.”

“We passed the task, didn’t we?”

“Well, yes, but—” _at what cost_? was the unspoken sentiment. “I’m sorry for _everything_ that happened today—”

Ren lifted a hand as if to wave away the discussion.

“Can we just drop it?” he asked. He didn’t mean to sound like he was snapping. “I am too tired to deal with this right now. Can we just look at the next lot of tasks so I can go to bed? I’m tired.”

Akechi nodded in quiet acceptance. At least he wasn’t arguing.

“I… had a look at them while you were out,” he admitted. “I ...actually think we might be better off opting for the one we left last time.”

“The one where I dress up and get unconscious?” Ren asked. He smiled sardonically. “I passed out after _this_ task. We should get a two for one offer there.”

Akechi laughed, then. There was a sense of relief in it, like some part of him could at least acknowledge that at least they were talking, and Ren was feeling okay enough to make jokes about it.

“What are they?”

Akechi passed the tablet over to Ren. It was odd that he was actually agreeing with Ren on the tasks: perhaps it was his way of apologising, perhaps it was him not wanting to get injured so soon afterwards.

When Ren saw it, he understood.

_#1:_ _Subject A must drive a nail through a spot on Subject B’s hand that is no less than 2cms thick._ _  
#2: Subject B must wear the specified apparatus until the loss of consciousness results._

“I am _not_ hammering a nail into you,” Ren said in perfect stoic deadpan. “I don’t care if it means we’re stuck here forever and you go crazy and kill me. That’s _fucked up_.”

Akechi nodded, frowning. “I had a feeling you would say that.”

“And anyway, I don’t even think you _have_ two centimetres of thickness in your hands. Your hands are _tiny_.”

“No they’re not—”

“They’re _thin_. Like the rest of you. There is no way to safely do that.”

“The other one is dangerous, too. Maybe if you went directly through my palm—”

“There are bones and nerves and who knows what other stuff in there,” Ren said. “That you have even considered this is really messed up.”

“I didn’t consider it in much detail,” Akechi admitted. “My guess was that you would outright refuse.”

“You guessed correctly.”

Akechi sighed. “I suppose that leaves us with the other task.”

“You don’t have to even be involved,” Ren said, a hardness coming back into his voice. “Go _have a bath_ or something while I’m doing it.”

“Probably not a sensible idea with this bandage on my leg,” Akechi muttered, with a slight smile.

Ren nodded. “You seem to know what to do with me when I’m unconscious, anyway,” he said. “Compared to the nail one, or _this_ one, it’s going to be a cakewalk for us. Especially you.”

Akechi gave him a deeply concerned look as he selected the task and the menu seemed to accept it.

“We have two days left. One unknown task,” he said. “We’ve nearly done this, Ren.”

Ren just nodded. There was a sense of relief that was almost blotted out by every other emotion which had overcooked and then fizzled out into exhaustion. At least the finish line was in sight now.


	13. Day Eleven: 81 pts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings here for suicidal references, bodily fluids, and generalised heaviness and bleakness, as well as the expected dubious consent stuff. 
> 
> This one took AGES to write and is LONG, and anyone who knows Room No 9 (or has looked it up) probably has some idea where the next task is going. I am trying to work out how to warn for it without spoilering, since it gets... full on, to put it mildly. 
> 
> There are two remaining chapters: the last day/next task, and the epilogue, which I would like to post together, but while might be awhile away.
> 
> I just want to say a huge thankyou to everyone who has been reading along: honestly, I love you guys.

Ren slept surprisingly well that evening. Maybe it was a sense of relief which had become realised, that they were so close to the finish line, that they had a firm idea of what remained to be done for the most part.

Or maybe it was mere exhaustion: the last 48 hours had been _intense_ , and they’d rapidly shifted from one extreme to another, with minimal downtime between any of it, and not much time or space to process everything that had happened.

Or perhaps, with a myriad of unanswered questions, emotions and suspicions running through his head, his body and mind could only come up with one answer: sleep.

He woke up to see Akechi already out of bed, seated at the table they used for meals and chess games, a cup of half-finished green tea next to him. His side of the bed lacked its usual warmth, making Ren wonder just how badly he’d slept, and _if_ he’d even slept after those moments last night where they had fallen into bed, silently lying together in the darkness, making no movement towards one another.

He wasn’t sure what to think any more. Just as one logical explanation occurred to him; that he was being unfair to Akechi, that all was not lost and they just needed space, that the craziness of this artificial closed environment was bringing with it its own brand of stress; another side of him would counter that with opposing arguments.

“Morning.” Akechi looked like hell.

Dark circles pitted underneath his eyes, his hair was unbrushed and ratty, and his eyes, normally bright and curious, or coolly relaxed and in control, were glassy and bloodshot.

His voice was the only thing which hadn’t caved to his wrecked appearance, and he sounded as perky and intelligent as he did on television. The contrast was unnerving.

“Hey.” He still wasn’t sure what to make of any of this, but the easiest thing was to ask about the obvious. “How’s your leg?”

“Swollen,” Akechi said, with a carefree shrug, “But I suppose that’s to be expected.”

“You didn’t… remove the dressing?”

“No, but I had a look under the bandage in the bathroom.”

“You’re going to need to get that looked at when we get out of here.” It was easier reverting to this sort of conversation. Of course, he wanted to follow it up with _and I know a great doctor who is a bit weird but non judgemental and she’s helped us out before_ , but worried that _that_ would sound clingy… or controlling. As though mentioning Takemi would be a suggestion that he wanted Akechi to remain in his life and neighbourhood. 

“I know,” he admitted. “I’m trying to work out how to explain it to a medical professional.”

Ren nodded. That was one of the after-effects of all this that he hadn’t considered.

“Something that appeared to be a self-inflicted injury might have actually been easier to explain.”

“If you want to go back to rehab, I guess.”

He hesitated then. Had he said the wrong thing? Had that been taken as another insult?

“I doubt that will happen,” was all Akechi said. He didn’t sound _angry_ about it, just resigned, in a way that Ren could only find frustrating. On one hand he was prepared to acknowledge tending to his _physical_ health, on another, he seemed ambivalent or cynical about even acknowledging his mental health.

 _I want you to get proper help._ Of course, Ren wasn’t actually going to verbalise that. They were sitting at a tentative, civil almost-stalemate right now. Why rock the boat if it wasn’t going to matter?

Something in his expression must have concerned Akechi, though.

“The facility I was at primarily works with substance abusers,” he said. “While the respite was appreciated when I was there, I doubt they’d be able to offer much assistance in terms of perceived suicidal behaviour.” He frowned slightly. “I’d be more likely told to see a counsellor.”

“And…” _That’s a bad thing?_

“And the trouble is that last time I was told to seek therapy, no one actually _believed_ me. The court went with the police reports which suggested that I was speaking nonsense and had delusions brought on by drug use… which is why I was ordered to attend rehabilitation to begin with.”

Ren felt like he was having to tread _very_ carefully. “Was there any… drug use?” he asked.

“No—” Akechi seemed half insulted, half amused by the idea. “The police actually searched my apartment on the suspicion of drugs, and found nothing. There was a bottle of whiskey someone gave me years ago, but aside from that, not even a cigarette, let alone anything else.” His frown deepened. “Having seen some of the things I did as a child didn’t exactly make me feel like experimenting with illicit substances. I like keeping my mind clear.”

He continued. “So of course, the assumption that I was delusional, and had no feasible reason for hallucinations or paranoia—they didn’t believe a word of what I said about the Metaverse—yet I clearly wasn’t involved in the drug trade—left them in something of a quandary. So I was ordered to attend rehab. Which I did.”

Ren nodded. He wanted to ask how it had been and what it was like, but that felt too personal, and like he could be potentially playing with fire.

“The thing is—and I suppose we can both add _this_ situation to the list of bizarre things we have experienced—no one’s going to believe these things happened.” He gave a small smile. “I suppose you’re in the same boat as me.”

“Yeah.” Biting down on his bottom lip, Ren wasn’t sure how to respond. This wasn’t typical for Akechi; he sounded strangely open about things.

“Anyway, we should probably work out how we’re going to get through the rest of our time here given what we know about the tasks, I suppose.” He stretched his arms above him, giving a small yawn.

“How much sleep did you get last night?” Ren was glad to be able to change the subject, but still curious.

“Not much. I suppose you could say that I had a lot to think about.”

Ren nodded carefully.

“And I owe you an apology.” His voice had dropped to something much quieter and less confident now, betraying the manufactured perkiness.

“No you—” It was so automatic. Anything to keep the peace, really; Ren was still hurt and confused and _worried_ about everything, but had come to accept Akechi’s blow-ups as part of their volatile, messy relationship.

“ _No_. I… am not sorry for being honest. I _am_ sorry for being _nasty_ though.”

“Sometimes the truth _is_ nasty.” Ren could feel his heart racing. He wasn’t _used_ to this. Akechi so rarely apologised. Part of him wanted to bask in it, make him grovel, cede his victory over him.

Another part of him just desperately wished everything was back to normal.

Then again, it never _had_ been normal between them, had it?

“No—it’s possible that I said a number of things that might have given you the wrong impression about me.”

Ren blinked. Everything he’d said sounded so _accurate_ and _reasonable_ , though.

“Like… what?” he asked.

“I… shouldn’t have called you pathetic,” he said. “You… aren’t.” His voice was speeding up, awkward and uncomfortable, reminding Ren of simpler times when they chatted on the phone in the evening after those not-quite-dates. “You have an innate kindness and need to help people and to try and believe the best in everyone,” Akechi said quietly. “In most cases, it’s probably served you well and helped you secure justice for people the rest of the world has harmed or discarded… but in this case, with me, I truly believe you are mistaken because you don’t have all the information. But then again—” he chuckled self-depreciatingly—“The _reason_ you don’t have all the information is because I never gave it to you, did I?”

He looked deeply uncomfortable in addition to exhausted.

“I—should we be talking about this in here?” Ren asked. “I mean, if there are cameras and people know us and—”

“We have two days, and we’ve already discussed so many other things,” Akechi said. “And I am starting to believe that whoever is doing this to us either hasn’t bugged this room with microphones, or if they have, our words are inconsequential, or our discussion of our previous activities would be treated like everything else we’ve discussed.”

“So you don’t think it’s personal?”

“Not any more. My suspicions are that the universe just was showing us its typically random but unnervingly focussed sense of irony. And if they already know and understand who we are and what we’ve done, we can’t really do anything about it anyway.”

“What gives you that idea?”

“The fact that this probably _is_ a test setting,” he said. “The sameness about things: the industrial products and impersonal instructions. The small touches like the bathroom products and being able to acquire a chess set are creature comforts, but the sameness of things like the negligee and all the single-use items for the tasks, in addition to the—” he looked at the window—“displays— there’s no way someone would have set this up just to get at _us_. That there were people turning up in other rooms after we arrived suggested that instead of being feature characters in this story, we’re just unfortunate test subjects.”

Ren considered it. It made sense, but he was hesitant to just outright accept it. “Perhaps…”

“It’s just that each of us is the hero of our own story, though. We see ourselves as the central character, the focal point. Maybe we’re not that focal in this and we’re just part of something else in this instance. We’re not really people, we’re just a source of data.” He frowned. “Horrifying as that is to consider.”

Ren shrugged. “I still don’t like the idea of explicitly naming names.” He thought about those hours recalling his story to Sae in the interrogation cell, desperate to only allude to people’s identities but not actually have their names recorded.

“I thought you would say that, and I agree,” Akechi admitted. “But—what I was getting at earlier—there is an awful lot you don’t know about me, Ren.” He blinked; his tired eyes reflecting a kind of sadness Ren wasn’t used to seeing.

“I made choices,” he continued. “Choices that do not make me a good person.”

“Choices that were made under duress,” Ren said. “And you said it yourself—I’m not judgemental about—”

“Oh, _please_ , you and your friends were happy to change a heart on the results of an internet poll.”

“We—” he thought about that time. Akechi, again, was annoyingly right. “We got caught up. We lost our heads for a bit… we were rash and silly.” He considered what had happened. “We were also dealing with a very immediate threat to a friend of ours in that instance, too.” He paused, considering it. “Morgana told us what Haru was facing if we hadn’t intervened. I don’t regret what we did. Her father effectively pimped her out to an abuser.”

Something uncomfortable flickered in his eyes then, and Ren felt a pang of horror and guilt and clumsiness. Memories of Akechi talking about Shido’s associate strangling him occurred to him, and he realised, too late, that he might have touched a nerve. He froze, awaiting another explosion.

Akechi looked at him, unreadable.

“I… feel like I know enough about things you have done to not hate you,” he continued. “And I _know_ you have done some bad things.”

“I _chose_ to do some bad things,” Akechi said defiantly.

“I... realise that probably better than the rest of my friends,” Ren muttered. “Most people wouldn’t go on holiday with someone who shot them point blank in the head.”

“ _Touche._ ”

“And… I know that there’s _more_.” He sucked his breath in. “I also know that I’ve had to reconcile that myself. You are like anyone else: you’ve made mistakes, you’ve done bad things—but at the end of it all, the things I _like_ about you outweigh that.”

Akechi sat there, very quietly, watching Ren with an almost suspicious gaze.

“And to that, I’d say that you are naïve, unfortunately,” he said. “Because there _is_ a lot that you don’t know about me, and there’s at least _one_ thing I am certain I could tell you that I have done which _will_ make you despise me.”

“Even worse than killing me?” He grinned.

“ _Yes_.”

Ren tried to run through the information he _had_ on Akechi, wondering what on earth it _was_. “You’ve tried to tell me so many times that you are unworthy of any sympathy, or that you’re a monster, and yet… you stood up for me and owned your involvement in things when I was facing _jail_. You… didn’t have to do that. And… that makes you a better person than you think you are.”

Akechi blinked.

“And you returned and saw through everything before anyone else did, and were basically the catalyst for us to fight for reality,” he said. “Of all my friends, you were the only one who questioned any of it and stood with me when the others were in their dream worlds. You went in to fight Maruki with me even when no one else was interested. You forced us to make a hard decision and opt for reality.”

“If we’d just taken the easy way out, we probably wouldn’t be locked in this hotel room,” he said with a wry chuckle.

“No—but you… have integrity. And your sense of justice might be a lot more cynical than mine, but it’s still based on trying to do what you believe is fair.”

“So you’re arguing that I don’t do things out of rash pettiness or the perception of threat?”

“Yes.”

“Ren—” He reached across the table, and Ren thought he was going to place a hand over one of his own. Instead, he reached for his cold tea and took a sip. “I have done some _very_ petty and cruel things for lesser reasons,” he said.

“We’ve _all_ hurt people at some stage,” Ren said. “That’s just… something we need to learn to live with.”

“I’ve done a few particularly regretful and awful things,” Akechi admitted.

“Killing that man who strangled you was a public service.”

“I wasn’t referring to that.”

“Oh.”

Akechi sighed again. “I… don’t want us to argue, Ren,” he said. “I had a lot to think about last night, but there’s one thing I really need you to know about me that is likely to destroy everything between us.”

Ren nodded. “I’m not sure one thing could do that.”

“Again, you overestimate your capacity for tolerance, and underestimate mine for cruelty.”

“Do you… want to talk about it?” Ren asked carefully.

“Yes and no. Yes, because I need to in order for us to have an authentic relationship of any sort, and no, because I am certain it would be the final straw for you.”

He was speaking in riddles again, but the part that stood out to Ren was the “Yes.”

“You… actually want to have an authentic relationship with me?” he asked. He chuckled. “You mean this deal where we just argue and have intense experiences together and then I watch you disappear somewhere isn’t good enough for you?”

Akechi chuckled airily. Was there relief in that laugh? “Not any more,” he said quietly.

“Well… can you just _try_ me at least?” He was certain that _whatever_ this confession was, it would change nothing.

Akechi looked like he’d already given it serious consideration. “After the task this evening,” he said. “Once we get through that, we have one left, and I think we both are resigned to it being another sex act since neither of us is keen on the nail one. But being so close to the finish line will likely push us to the point where we’ll tolerate just about anything in order to get out of here, yes? Even if you despise me by that point, your desire for freedom and to see your friends again will likely outweigh that.”

Ren nodded. It sounded reasonable, though part of him was dying to know what the dreaded admission was. There was nothing, in his mind, that would make him hate Akechi. 

“That…” He trailed off, wanting to say that it didn’t matter, that he could live without knowing the intricacies of Akechi’s activities. It was in the past. He wondered if it went back deeper, if Akechi was overreacting, if he truly blamed himself for something he’d had no part in, remembering how Futaba, for years, had blamed herself for her mother’s suicide, and felt she deserved to die for it. Did he harbour a similar belief about his own mother’s death?

“…sounds reasonable,” he said eventually.

Akechi looked relieved.

They were interrupted by the ping of the television, and the cheerful morning message advising them that breakfast was half an hour away.

“I suppose I should have a shower,” he said, smiling slightly.

Ren just nodded. Somehow, it felt like they’d survived an earthquake and had stepped back onto solid ground. But he wasn’t sure how long things would remain stable.

Akechi slept for most of the day, his previous inability to sleep the night before finally thwarted by a breakfast of American style waffles and fruit and cream, a shower, and possibly the relief of conversation. He’d crawled back into bed after they’d put their dishes back in the collection chamber and Ren had slipped off into the bathroom for a shower.

Stepping out, Ren noticed the pile of clothes he’d been wearing beside the bed, along with a damp bandage, and the tell-tale lump of body under the bed covers.

He didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t used to being alone like this, and felt a weird pang of loneliness.

He tidied around the room, stared at the artificial beachside scenery in the artificial window, and looked over, from time to time, at Akechi, asleep and apparently content for the moment. In two days, this would all be nothing more than a bad memory.

He checked on the other rooms via the tablet—no drastic changes, no released information from anyone else—and flicked idly through the menus. Tonight’s task faced him—they had definitely chosen the better option, even though it was shrouded in mystery.

Realising there was nothing else he could do, unless he wanted to drive himself crazy with more match-three games on his phone—he changed into his pyjamas, and slipped under the covers of the bed.

It felt _normal_ , he realised, lying next to Akechi like this. He wasn’t _tired_ , but it was _pleasant;_ there was something comforting about the warmth and weight of his body next to his own, which had been lacking when he woke up earlier this morning.

He wanted to stretch out and drape an arm over Akechi, to shift alongside him and bask in that warmth. But he also didn’t want to wake him up, or make him feel pressured in any way; things felt like they’d shifted between them again, with their engagement cooling down somewhat… and after this morning’s conversation, Ren could sort of understand why. Physical intimacy might have been nice, but it probably was just a band aid solution right now (even if he didn’t share Akechi’s concerns about the risk of losing themselves in a haze of sex and hedonism).

Akechi was being… honest, but standoffish in a way, controlled about his responses, and _careful_ in a manner that gave Ren cause for blooming hope.

From this morning’s discussion, he’d gotten the idea that possibly Akechi was terrified of losing him. And while his fear might have been unfounded and irrational, in a way, that felt like he was more serious than he ever had been about whatever this… situation… was that they had.

He curled up, inches away from him but still not daring touch him, and fell into a light, pleasant nap.

“Ren?” He woke up groggily, roused from a strange dream which involved him and the rest of his friends walking around the aquarium. But instead of being the aquarium, it had been palace-like, with endless corridors, and while they were all in their phantom thief clothing, there were no shadows, just an endless, tense, and slightly confused search for the one member of their party who was absent—Akechi. Ren had woken to the sound of his voice, feeling relieved. He’d found him, even if it was unexpected and had disrupted what was going on in his head at the time.

“Hey—” He blinked sleepily, disorientated.

“The television woke me up,” Akechi said. “We slept through lunch. Dinner’s on the way.”

“Huh?” Sitting up, and only realising then that clearly _Akechi_ had shifted in _his_ sleep and there was a bare arm casually draped across his shoulders, he looked around. “Shit,” he said.

“Yes. I didn’t realise you’d come back to bed.”

“I wasn’t going to let you have all the fun.”

Akechi smiled slightly. “I suppose both of us needed that sleep,” he said.

“You looked wrecked this morning.”

“I suppose so.” He rolled away to the side, in search of clothing. Ren couldn’t help but shift his gaze in his direction, watching as he nudged a pair of pants over to the side of the bed, and pulled them on. The see-through shield over the wound made it look ugly and painful—and yes, it did look swollen—but he was still undeniably attractive.

“You took off the bandage?”

“Yes. It got wet when I was showering.”

“And you don’t have a spare?”

Akechi shrugged, turning around to face him. “They might leave us one in the collection chamber,” he said. “They’ve at least been consistent with supplying medical products and antibiotics.” He changed the subject. “We probably should get up and eat, especially since we missed lunch.”

Dinner was an ornate, sumptuous selection of tempura vegetables and prawns with rice and salad side dishes. It all looked beautiful, and smelled delicious.

And Ren _wanted_ to eat, but something occurred to him as he lifted the cloche.

“What?” Akechi asked, chopsticks in hand as he was about to pick up a battered prawn, golden and glistening and smelling mouth-wateringly good. “You appear to be having reservations.”

Looking down at his own serving, and considering that it would be strange watching Akechi eat while not eating anything himself, Ren frowned deeply. Dinner tonight really _did_ look amazing. Not to mention _expensive_ , the sort of thing you’d get at a high class restaurant that you’d saved up for weeks to visit.

“I was thinking,” he said, “If I don’t eat anything, it might be better for the task.”

Akechi paused. “That’s… actually a good point.” He put his chopsticks down. There was a serious, reserved note in his voice. “Unconsciousness can occur due to low blood sugar, and—”

“You know when you don’t eat anything for awhile, or when we were running around in a palace and were getting hungry and felt kind of faint—?”

Akechi nodded.

“The task says that I have to wear that apparatus until loss of consciousness results. So the quicker I fall unconscious, the less time I have to spend doing the task.”

“ _We_ have to doing the task.” Akechi made no attempt to actually eat anything.

“ _You_ don’t have to do anything.”

“Except see that you’re all right.”

“You don’t _have_ to do that.”

Akechi raised his eyebrows, looking unimpressed. “If the task is like the others that required handcuffs, or you have to wear something that might cause some sort of injury, it would be beneficial for me to ensure those things are removed once you’ve… completed it.”

Ren hadn’t considered that. The idea of being stuck in handcuffs for any length of time again wasn’t pleasant.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t think about that?”

“I didn’t… really.”

Akechi rolled his eyes before glancing down again at his food.

“Go ahead,” Ren said. “No one said _you_ have to remain hungry and miserable as well.”

“The rules on the first day specified that the dishes and any uneaten food had to be returned within two hours of dinner,” he said. “So if you’re comfortable not eating until after the task—”

“Will that take two hours though? I don’t want us to lose points for disobeying them.”

Akechi frowned. “That’s… also a good point,” he said uncomfortably. “I suppose it’s up to you. If you eat something now, the task might take longer, but if not, and you want food later on, it might set us back on points.”

“ _You_ can still have dinner,” Ren said. “There’s no use in you going hungry.”

“I wouldn’t feel comf—”

“If _you_ lost consciousness because your blood sugar dropped, you’d feel pretty stupid,” Ren said. “So… just eat something, okay? We can put some of the salad and rice in the bar fridge which I can eat afterwards… they wouldn’t have allowed us a fridge if they didn’t expect us to use it, right?”

Akechi smiled. “Clever.”

“Isn’t everything we do _really_ just about working out how to bend the rules in our favour?”

“I suppose so.” Akechi picked up his chopsticks again.

“I… apologise,” he said awkwardly, still looking at the battered prawn with a kind of longing on his face.

“ _Don’t_. Your pathetic fangirls enjoy watching you eat delicious food anyway.”

Akechi looked up, his eyes widening in panic.

“You deserved that.” Ren wore a shit-eating grin as he replied.

“I probably did.”

“You _definitely_ did. But I’ll still enjoy the show.” It was cheeky flirtation, enough to make Akechi give a small smile before picking up the prawn and biting down on it. Ren had to admit, hungry as he was, watching him enjoy food—and it really _did_ look and smell good—was nice; there was an other worldly sort of relaxation on his face, like he was concentrating, focusing on the experience of _everything_ about what he was eating. He’d probably utilised those sorts of skills when blogging: he couldn’t very well go to all the cafes he went to and describe the myriad of trendy foods he sampled as merely “nice.”

“ _What_?” He’d finished chewing the prawn and eyed Ren suspiciously.

“You just looked like you really enjoyed that.”

“I did.” He looked slightly guilty then.

“It… makes me think that I’ve only ever made coffee for you before. You haven’t tried my LeBlanc curry.”

“I’ve had LeBlanc curry before,” Akechi said. “I popped in on a few occasions after Sae-san had told me good things about the place. You just happened to be elsewhere at the time.”

“Yes, but _I’ve_ never prepared food for you before.” Was he flirting again? Maybe. “Seeing you look like _that_ while you’re eating makes me want to.”

A reddish hue had crept into his cheeks now, and he looked almost self-conscious as he picked up some purple sweet potato. Ren couldn’t help but watch; his movements were so precise and tidy and _polite_ , but that blush in his cheeks, that self-consciousness, seemed to suggest something almost scandalous that he couldn’t quite restrain.

Swallowing the sweet potato, he changed the subject. “You should probably have something to drink, at least,” he said. “It might stave off the hunger until after the task, at least.”

Smart thinking. Ren nodded, pouring himself a glass of water from the carafe on the trolley. “I’m just going to focus on how I’ll feel when it’s all over,” he said. “How good that rice and salad is going to taste.”

Akechi hadn’t touched his.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, “I’ll leave mine for you as well.”

“Are you just saying that so you can have my tempura?” Ren chuckled.

“Well, that seems like a fair exchange, but I suppose it’s sensible since refrigerating tempura isn’t very appealing.”

Ren carefully picked up the large piece of prawn tempura on his plate, about to deposit it on Akechi’s. Then he thought better of it, emboldened by the fact that Akechi was now watching him, and so far hadn’t seemed averse to his flirtation.

Like everything else, it was all about seeing how far he could bend the rules and how much he could get away with. Reaching over and dipping the tempura in the sauce on Akechi’s serve, he then held it out towards him, watching with a smug sort of amusement as Akechi opened his mouth and daintily accepted it, before closing his eyes, seemingly lost in the taste.

“I’m probably enjoying watching you eat this more than I would have enjoyed eating it myself,” Ren admitted.

Slightly nervous now, Akechi blinked, quickly swallowing, something close to a stutter running through his voice. “ _Oh_. I _said_ I didn’t think you had discovered all your particular kinks, didn’t I?” There was a satisfied chuckle from him. “You really are full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Ren wasn’t sure if he considered _that_ a kink, but the idea of giving Akechi cause to make faces like that, and inspire a teasing sort of satisfaction in him was appealing. “Maybe it’s not a specific _kink_ ,” Ren said— _really_ , he probably _was_ being melodramatic now—“but you looked like you were really enjoying yourself.”

“It really is delicious,” he admitted. “I’m truly sorry that you aren’t choosing to partake right now.”

Ren shook his head. “I might as well not let missing lunch go to waste, and I don’t know how long it’s going to take for us to do the task.” He hadn’t given too much more thought to whatever the ominous “apparatus” was, but felt like the quicker they could complete the task, the better it would be all round. “I might be wearing the _thing_ and being furious at myself that I chose to eat and give myself more energy when it would all be over quicker if I’d just had the will power to not eat.”

“Mmmm.” Akechi didn’t look _pleased_ as Ren said it, but nodded. “Under these particularly odd circumstances, I think that’s reasonable,” he said. “Though I still feel guilty.”

“I made the _choice_ ,” Ren said. “It’s not your place to feel guilty for being able to enjoy your food like a _normal_ person would.” He held out a piece of cucumber to Akechi across the table, watching as he carefully accepted and ate it. He’d closed his eyes again, making Ren unsure as to whether he was savouring the food, depriving himself the distraction of visual input so he could focus on the subtle flavours and textures, or if he was awkwardly trying to avoid eye contact. It might have been all of them.

Either way, it was… nice to watch, Ren thought. He looked relaxed and satisfied despite the fact that it seemed to be dawning on both of them now that it was going to be a two-person task facing them afterwards.

“Okay—” He looked down at the plate in front of him. “Though we’ll probably get through this quicker if you just let me eat without distracting me.”

That… felt awfully like rejection.

“…Not that it was an _unpleasant_ distraction, just that—”

Well, _that_ was unexpected. The way he’d sounded so remorseful about it, like he’d kind of wished they could continue dinner like this, like they could pretend they were in a fluffy, aesthetically pleasing rom-com.

Ren nodded, his eyes shifting to the cup next to him. Taking another sip of water, he smiled weakly. It always felt like whenever they reached a pleasant sort of natural flow and were enjoying themselves, the tension surrounding them, thoughts of the reality they were stuck in, encroached upon them and ruined things.

Then he thought about the conversation they were going to have afterwards. While he’d tried to avoid thinking about it, because thinking about it would drive him crazy, he suspected, he wondered if that would somehow be an unexpected blow to everything between them.

 _Was_ there a point where he could not forgive and accept Akechi? He suspected not, but he was well aware that life came with unexpected nasty surprises and plot twists that wrenched him from a state of comfort and control. He wanted to ask Akechi—but suspected that he’d been smart in giving him time to mentally prepare for a dark confession—and that getting the task done first was probably the smarter way to go about things.

They cleared up, for the first time since arriving, leaving uneaten food. Ren took the small servings of salad and rice through to the bar fridge, noting that they at least had a bottle of sports drink left which he’d probably want afterwards, and watched as Akechi silently stacked everything else onto the trolley to return.

“I probably should have a shower,” he muttered, making an escape to the bathroom which felt cowardly, leaving Akechi to deal with whatever was going to arrive in the collection chamber.

The light switched on and off just after he’d re-emerged. He’d thrown on one of the bath robes, suspecting that whatever the _apparatus_ was, he’d probably have to get _changed_ into it, anyway, and he’d need to undress, anyway.

“What do you think it is?” he asked nervously.

Akechi shrugged, staring at the door. “I suspect it’s worse than the task where the apparatus was a gag.”

Ren nodded in silence. The tasks had escalated. Not knowing was bad—the only comfort he gained from any of this was that at least he didn’t have to _drive a nail_ through someone’s hand.

When the light switched off, they looked at one another and proceeded towards the door. Opening it cautiously, a wave of apprehension flowing through him, he saw the trolley, piled with a range of items and a much more detailed sheet of instructions, which Akechi grabbed.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed, leaving Ren trying to make sense of the items as he wheeled the trolley out.

Glancing down at the trolley was confronting. Ren had expected to see maybe one or two items, maybe another embarrassing costume, which now somehow felt a lot less impossible than it had when he’d first been confronted by that garish pink gift bag.

There was a stack of towels and some folded bed linen, which was strange—normally these were just left on the shelving in the collection chamber.

Then there were the black leather things, reminders of the handcuffs and the gag, but this time including something that had wider pieces of leather and other attachments.

“Hey, this looks familiar!” Ren lifted up one of the leather cuffs, which had several silver buckles on it, before realising that it was attached to a severe-looking black metal pole, which was attached to an identical cuff at the other end.

The half-hearted joke about Akechi’s Metaverse outfit no longer seemed that funny.

Akechi glanced over, making a deeply unimpressed noise. “Ren,” he said quietly, his eyes skimming down the instructions, “I think you need to take a look at this. It’s perfectly understandable if you don’t want to proceed with this task.”

“I don’t want to hammer a nail through your hand, either.”

Akechi looked pained then, leaving no question about his own response.

“I’m starting to see why Room Number Five were having so much trouble at the eighty point mark,” he muttered. “Assuming, of course, they were at _this_ point. They might have been at a heavier or worse place in regard to these requests.”

Ren just nodded, looking over everything else on the trolley. The handcuffs had made a reappearance, along with that electricity _thing_ which Akechi seemed to recognise and had refused to utilise. Then there were a couple of other sex toys; one of those very vanilla looking “personal massagers” that people allegedly used for non-sexy purposes, the nipple clamps, some sort of harness thing that he assumed was meant to go over his chest, the familiar vibrating butt plug, and a gag that looked like something a race horse would wear. And then there seemed to be a selection of other things which looked vaguely threatening and he was entirely unfamiliar with.

“I… have to wear all this?” he asked carefully.

Akechi stared at him, nodding, in a sort of horrified disbelief. He put the piece of paper down on top of the buckled cuff Ren had been holding up. “The restraints, unfortunately, yes,” he said quietly. His face was pale and disgusted. “And… it appears there’s absolutely _no_ way you can ask me to stop once we start this, either.”

Ren had suspected as much. Was it just the task escalating, or was it a nasty stab of revenge from the researchers after Akechi’s quick thinking with the kettle? He wasn’t sure.

“I guess we _stop_ when I pass out,” Ren said.

“I _really_ don’t feel comfortable doing this.” Akechi’s voice was weak and nervous.

“I doubt I’m going to be comfortable wearing all this stuff,” Ren said. He was desperate to put Akechi at ease. “We just need to get through this. The soon I pass out, the sooner it’s over. And if we stop _now,_ we’re here for another night, and we have to do this again or—”

“You know, on second thoughts, I’d feel more comfortable with the other task now.”

“Until I sever a nerve or crush through a bone in your hand and then you can’t play pool with me ever again,” Ren quipped. He trembled with a kind of uneasiness, deliberately avoiding the overriding issue: Akechi’s initial criticism of this tier of tasks had come true: he was being pushed into the unwelcome position of not being able to ascertain consent.

“I’d risk that over what is effectively _rape_.”

Ren blinked, watching his face carefully. He looked horrified and pallid, like he was deeply anguished over what he’d just read and might have been on the verge of snapping. Or crying. Or throwing a punch.

“Hey,” he said softly. He didn’t like it any more than Akechi did, though guiltily thought that at least he wasn’t the one having to _do_ anything more than be on the receiving end. “I’m _consenting_ to this. It’s not rape if I’m consenting to it, okay?”

“You’re consenting under duress. You wouldn’t, under normal circumstances, be choosing to do this, would you?”

Ren didn’t know what to say. He was hardly _naïve_ to people getting into this stuff, and he’d seen all kinds of porn pop up online, not to mention some of Futaba’s weirder doujinshi and her friends’ _Featherman_ fan art, but hard BDSM and anything that looked non-consensual had never had been his cup of tea. But he also really didn’t want to say anything that would make Akechi back out, causing them to repeat this whole mess tomorrow, or worse yet, do the _nail_ task.

“I might try it with someone I trusted,” he offered weakly.

Akechi shook his head and made a tutting sound. Like he was about to admonish Ren for thinking he was trustworthy. Instead, he said nothing, and held out the page of instructions so Ren could read over them too.

This time, it was a lot longer, more explicit in terms of the detail and requirements, with a few suggestions. The first was enough to make Ren balk in horror.

 _Waterproof sheets have been provided should you choose to attempt this activity on the bed, as loss of consciousness often results in loss of control over bodily functions_.

So the researchers were implying he’d piss himself. Or worse. He wondered what Akechi was less okay with— _that_ , or the consent issue.

“Are _you_ okay with this …if the other person _was_ consenting?” he asked carefully.

“Not particularly, though I suppose I would indulge a partner if he had these sorts of preferences and there was mutual trust.” _And you said you didn’t trust anyone._ “I’ve never really given it much consideration before. I’ve never _had_ to.”

Ren continued reading down the list, his understanding of the task deepening, his horror intensifying.

“So you haven’t done anything like this either,” he said vaguely.

“No. Not really.” He was trying so desperately to sound calm, but the hesitation in his voice was obvious. “I must admit, when I saw sounding discussed there, _that_ threw me.”

Ren’s eyes widened and he glanced up. “Huh?”

“ _Yeah_.” Akechi sounded deeply uncomfortable.

“What’s—that?”

“In this case it’s a rod attached to some sort of vibrating thing that is, well, inserted into your urethra like a catheter. I’ve never seen one of those before.”

Ren felt a strange wave of nausea rush through him at the thought as Akechi handed him the instructions. It didn’t make him feel any _more_ at ease remembering Akechi praising him for his skilled hands and precision, claiming he couldn’t have done the very first task on the list, either.

“Do we… _have_ to use that one?”

Akechi looked at the list. “The instructions are vague,” he said. “The restraints are required, but nothing else is. I suspect it’s all part of the mind game here, eventually pushing us to _have_ to use things. They’re not _making_ us, they’re pushing us to the desperation of making those decisions for ourselves.”

“That’s if I don’t pass out earlier on, though.”

“You aren’t going to pass out just from being restrained, though. Like everything they’ve made us do so far, this is another exercise where the aim seems to be to force us into crossing boundaries we pointedly said we couldn’t cross. Making us do things we swore we couldn’t do.”

It was a decent explanation, and he was right. Everything so far had seemed impossible at first; this task was initially one they’d pointedly refused—in favour of the cutting task which they’d initially failed and relegated to a no-go zone. And then they’d completed it last night.

“Only this time, it’s within a matter of hours rather than days,” Ren said. The awful consideration of _wanting_ something as hideous as _that device_ on and in him, in order to make it all _end_ occurred to him. He thought about his time in the interrogation room, where he’d almost, _almost_ considered the temptation of naming everyone involved with the raid on the casino, just to make the pain stop.

And then came the uncomfortable association he considered with Akechi’s great revenge plan on Shido. _He_ probably never started out assuming he would be torturing anyone, building a phony career on puppeteering people into doing horrible things, lying to the public, and eventually shooting a teenager in the head in a closed room.

“Precisely,” he said. “This situation… whether by random chance or design, has pretty much forced us into doing things that go against the core nature of who we are.”

Ren wanted to make a stupid joke about how, hey, maybe he was developing a taste for kinky stuff, or that hey, the idea of Akechi hurting him on someone else’s orders wasn’t _that_ different to who he’d been, but he couldn’t. What was racing through his mind _now_ , was the consideration that perhaps actually coming back from this, from the knowledge that he could inflict sizeable injuries on another person who posed no threat to him, for no medical reason at all, was something he had to work out how to live with when this was all over.

He considered how he’d shut off during that task, refusing to look at the injury, caught in the moment and just desperate to push through. In a way, it reminded him of some of their challenges when they were dealing with the Conspiracy; act now, debrief later. Except… what the _fuck_ was the debrief for something like _this?_

He thought about how Akechi had _at least_ been sent to rehab afterwards. Not through his own choosing –but ordered by the courts—and wondered if it had been at all helpful. Of everyone in the group (Morgana excluded of course), he was the only one who had pointedly avoided talking to Dr. Maruki. Yusuke, even, had sought out the counsellor, despite not being a Shujin student. The rest of them had initially questioned visiting him and rolled their eyes about it, but they’d gone along and agreed that it hadn’t been especially painful or a bad idea.

How, though, did you bounce back from something like _this_? Their sessions with Maruki were in the capacity of being survivors and victims of unjust circumstances, not as perpetrators trying to live with themselves.

He tried thinking of the sort of cool-water, calming sort of thing Dr. Maruki would say in response to an admission like cutting a ten-centimetre wound in someone on purpose. _That must have been awful for someone as concerned for others as you, Ren_. He wondered what the counsellor would say to someone with Akechi’s past of assassination and crazy making.

It was becoming easier to see why Akechi saw himself as being irredeemably beyond anyone’s help.

And whatever _else_ he’d done—that thing he wanted to talk about—Ren was certain that whatever it was, it wouldn’t be enough to drastically shift his affection for him. But Akechi being able to believe that was something else.

“Okay—so we probably should get started.” Gently placing the sheet of paper down on the trolley, Ren looked at the bed. “Assuming you’re okay with this.”

“I’m not okay with this,” Akechi said. “But we haven’t been left much of a choice.” There was something deadpan and depressing in his voice then, a kind of resignation that made Ren wonder if he was thinking about the same sorts of things that he was. “Are you _sure_ you are okay with this?”

Like he wanted him to say no. Like he wouldn’t judge him for saying no.

“Remaining here or hammering a nail through your hand isn’t an option for either of us,” Ren said solidly, hoping his nervousness wasn’t as obvious as it felt. “And… the duress issue isn’t about _you_ putting me under duress, but _them_ putting _us_ under duress. So… I’m consenting.” He nearly added a small _I trust you_ afterwards, but didn’t want to make it any more fraught with tension _._ It was clearly obvious that Akechi didn’t want to be doing this any more than he wanted to be subjected to it. “Do whatever you need to in order for us to get through this, okay? You only have to make me pass out, not _kill_ me or anything—”

Akechi nodded.

“I’d… prefer to lay off the sounding thing if we could though.”

Akechi nodded with some small degree of relief. “Looking at the instructions, it seems like we can’t really change our minds on that one. Either we begin with it or we don’t use it at all.” He looked slightly relieved. “Though… I’m grateful you said that… I don’t think I could effectively do it, and since the instructions specify doing it _after_ the restraints—” he trailed off awkwardly. Ren thought he understood what wasn’t being verbalised: _since you’ll be wearing a gag, you can’t tell me to stop._

“Unfortunately some of the other… devices… don’t seem especially appealing either, though.”

He glanced at the trolley uncomfortably. Moving the bags of sterilised _stuff_ associated with the sounding device away still left a lot of uncomfortable and vaguely intimidating items sitting there. Akechi picked up the familiar wand thing that had appeared in a previous task.

“I guess we get to find out now if I’m into electricity,” he said. A nervous laugh escaped him.

“I… can’t say I find this as amusing as you do,” Akechi said vacantly.

“It still makes me think of some of the stuff we saw in Maruki’s lab,” he continued, desperate to at least get a smile from him. “Maybe _he’s_ got an electricity fetish?”

“You are _really_ not helping, Ren.”

“Sorry.” He was tempted to make a quip about the gag, but glancing down at the objects on the trolley made him uncomfortable.

“Okay—” Akechi sucked in his breath. “I suppose if we’re going to do this, we need to change the sheets—”

“We could do it in the bathroom?” Ren suggested.

“No.” Akechi frowned. “While that worked last time, the circumstances here are quite different, and you need to be as comfortable as possible—”

“I passed out in the bathroom. It wasn’t too bad. I even woke up with a towel under my head.”

Akechi’s frown had shifted to a look of shame. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I wasn’t sure what was the right thing to do there. I didn’t want you to come to feeling strange about things, especially since earlier we’d had _that_ discussion which turned into an argument and…” He paused. “I just didn’t want to make you feel any worse than you already did, and assumed you would want some privacy.”

“I… don’t mind.”

“If you’d _collapsed_ in the bathroom, you could have hurt yourself badly, and since the _point_ of this task _is_ getting you to pass out, I feel like it would be adding an element of unnecessary risk to it. We’ll do it on the bed, like the instructions suggest.”

Akechi had already made the decision and wasn’t up for an argument, it seemed. He was walking around the mattress, pulling up the sheets, ready to remake the bed with the linen provided for the exercise. Ren watched, in growing horror. He couldn’t even remember wetting the bed as a little kid, and yet now it was pretty much _expected_.

He sucked in his breath and grabbed the waterproof sheets. “I’m going to pre-emptively apologise if the waterproof sheets are necessary,” he muttered, starting to unfold them.

Akechi didn’t say anything, just watching as Ren made the bed in silence.

When they were done, the silence still lingered. The bed was made up, deceptively normal and comfortable looking. Ren sat on the edge awkwardly.

“If you’re… worried about the bathroom thing, maybe you could… go now?”

“I thought about that… I don’t need to.” The apprehension made his insides feel solid. Except for the aching pit in his stomach where normally there’d be food digesting. He was _starving_ , and was now privately worried that the hunger would keep him too alert to pass out. Not that he was going to bring that up right now either.

“Very well.” Akechi looked at the items on the trolley. “It says we have to do the restraints first.” He grabbed the one Ren had held earlier when he’d joked about it resembling his Metaverse outfit. “I suppose we start with this, I guess.”

Ren didn’t know what to say, but nodded silently. He’d seen the instructions explaining how the restraints worked, that the thick wide leather bands with the buckles around them went just above his knees, with the bar between them keeping his legs held apart. Gingerly reaching around one leg, and affixing the cuff, Akechi said nothing, focused, as he moved to the other. His eyes were fixated on his hands, his touch was careful and firm. Ren wondered if his mind was in a similar place to where his own had been when he was rubbing disinfectant over the skin on his thigh last night.

When that one was affixed, he grabbed the next piece of leather, a sort of harness which appeared to be more for show than anything else, with an o-ring in the centre of the chest, and a collar, as well as bits that went over Ren’s shoulders and then presumably affixed to the handcuffs that were to be applied afterwards.

“I suppose you should take off the bath robe,” Akechi said. And then in a quieter voice, “I’m so sorry.”

Ren didn’t reply beyond obediently shrugging off the white towelling garment. Part of _his_ brain had gone onto the autodrive it had last night where he was trying to avoid thinking about what they were actually doing, but focussing on the little sensations; the soft hesitation in Akechi’s voice, the slight strain in his knees, bent up awkwardly and exposing him to the night air and likely the lens of a camera somewhere, the weight of the bath robe cascading down his shoulders; the way he leaned forward Akechi affixed the harness thing around him, buckling it behind him and then doing up the collar.

There was a slight moment of panic then, and he was _glad_ Akechi had adamantly said no to the choking activity; the sensation of all this _and_ the leather band around his neck was nerve wracking, even though he couldn’t entirely figure out _why_. He fell back against the pillows when Akechi had finished, hating the way his arms were uncomfortably bent behind him, feeling the pressure of restraint without even the addition of the handcuffs.

“Do we do the gag or the handcuffs first?” Akechi asked nervously.

“Doesn’t really matter, does it?” he asked. Hoping he sounded relaxed. Freaking out about the handcuffs now seemed obtuse, and making Akechi panic unnecessarily could kill their chances at even properly starting this. Akechi frowned, and grabbed the hand cuffs, gently nudging Ren forward as he affixed them around his wrists.

“If you can, it’s probably going to be slightly more comfortable to lie on your side,” he said. “Lying back on all this is going to possibly put weight on your wrists and press the buckles into your skin,” he said. “And you’ll need to be on your side to recover, anyway. I can’t put a pillow under your head.”

“I can’t really lie on my side with—" Ren gave a flick of his head, best he could, anyway, with the collar and the harness restricting normal movement—“that thing there.” He looked down at the spreader bar between his knees.

“I’m sorry—”

“It’s not your fault,” he said. Somehow, despite the humiliation and the discomfort, it was seeing that completely forlorn, guilty look on Akechi’s face that made this a whole lot worse.

Akechi didn’t reply, but moved towards the trolley to get the gag. Moving back to Ren, he frowned again, tentatively reaching out towards him. “You need to bite down on this,” he said. “Apparently the purpose of it is to stop you swallowing your tongue when you fall unconscious.”

Ren nodded with stiff movements and opened his mouth as Akechi nervously placed the rubber bar between his teeth and then affixed the buckle at the back of his head. He was so thorough about it, combing Ren’s hair out of the way, that it felt weirdly tender in spite of the awfulness.

And then the panic set in. He was truly at Akechi’s mercy, unable to communicate anything, unable to move. Unlike the last time he’d had a piece of _stuff_ in his mouth, he had no other way of indicating if he wanted to stop. He’d agreed to it; the idea of passing out, or even overstimulation itself didn’t _really_ bother him, but the constraints _did._ But he couldn’t let Akechi know that; if he visibly panicked and Akechi lost his nerve, he might undo everything, granting him temporary relief, but failing the task for them.

“Okay—” Akechi’s voice was deeply uneasy as he started looking at the items on the trolley. “I suppose it’s probably better that we get this one out of the way with first.”  
  
Ren tried to nod, but couldn’t. He wanted to, to indicate that he was _still_ okay with this, even if it was just to put Akechi at ease, but his movement was so restricted that he could do little more than make what he hoped was a sound of agreement through the rubber bar against his teeth. He could already feel saliva running down the side of his mouth, sticky and unstoppable and embarrassing.

He watched Akechi, unable to tear his eyes away from the hesitant, deeply worried look in his eyes. He looked so uncomfortable that it gave him secondhand embarrassment. And there was nothing he could do, in this state, to reassure him, other than allow his body to relax as much as it could, and hope that the wave of welcome unconsciousness hit him sooner rather than later.

Akechi was squeezing lubricant onto his fingers, that same uncomfortable expression on his face. He was silent and focussed, like he had been considering what order to proceed in, and he softly applied the lubricant to Ren, his eyes firmly looking into his face. Like he was trying to gage a reaction, and sparing him the humiliation of staring at his exposed ass.

  
It didn’t feel _painful_ when he slipped in the familiar black plug, just awkward and strangely mechanical, as though both of them were well aware that the entire activity was devoid of anything normal and erotic but more like a medical necessity. He’d heard about medical fetishes before; Ryuji had made an off-colour joke about Dr. Takemi once.

 _Nope, not one of my kinks,_ Ren thought to himself, as Akechi lifted his testicles and affixed some sort of device over them. Every so often he’d glance down at what he was doing, as though guilty, and then his eyes would flicker back to Ren’s, silent and assessing.

When the vibrator was switched on, Ren could feel himself starting to harden, his body managing to react in spite of how awkward and uncomfortable all this was. He was confused but relieved; each step felt like a step closer to reaching the end of the task, getting those points, leaving them just one more day of enduring this. Akechi leaned up against him, gently pinching at one nipple and then the other before applying the clamps. The firey pinch of them caused him to flinch back suddenly, but Akechi’s hand rubbing across his shoulder uncomfortable and awkward, like he wasn’t _sure_ how to comfort him, felt strangely nice.

And then Akechi switched on the vibrator and the rest of him reacted.

He was amazed that his body was able to somehow fall into the sensation and ignore the psychological discomfort. Akechi ran a hand over his shaft in a way that seemed to be encouraging, and it felt distractingly _good_ in a way that he couldn’t quite articulate—the combination of sensations, all competing for his attention, in combination with the hunger and the nervousness—and then the weird soothing feeling of something as _ordinary_ as Akechi stroking him, was overwhelming. Precome leaked from him in what felt like the best kind of betrayal, and Akechi stared up at him, seemingly relaxing a little.

“You’re—amazing—” he breathed. In an awed, grateful kind of way that seemed laced with a thankyou in undercurrent.

He closed his eyes, thrusting his hips up as much as he could, pushing himself into Akechi’s strokes. He felt rock hard and on the verge of release, but frustratingly not close enough; there was always that frenzied urgency when he was trying to get off, but this time it came with something more—an end to this meant a relief greater than orgasm or even the relief of blacking out—it meant that this particular humiliation was over.

And then he felt those long, graceful fingers pull away, slipping down lower to adjust the pulses on the vibrating plug. The change in movement seemed to hit harder, deeper, and Ren arched up against it violently, a moan stifled somewhere in the back of his throat, subdued by the gag. He opened his eyes to see Akechi to the side of him, looking at the trolley of implements as though working out what to do next.

Frustratingly, he felt so _on edge_ that he wanted to scream. It was simultaneously too much as entirely _not enough_ stimulation; his body seemed to be processing it in an arduously slow manner, and the distinct lack of _sexiness_ about it only added to the frustration.   
  


Akechi grabbed the vibrator, adjusting the switch, before moving back down towards the end of the bed, and softly pressing it against Ren’s thigh.

The waves of vibration brought a new intensity to things, and he arched back against it, causing Akechi to pull away, resting a hand reassuringly on his other leg, his expression conflicted; like he wanted to stop, so desperately, but knew, as Ren did, that the only way to get through this successfully was to keep going.

Giving what he hoped was an urging nod— _keep going, don’t worry about me, keep going_ —some part of him realised that he no longer had the freedom of movement to indicate that. He could no longer speak or even murmur encouragement. Facial expressions were out of the question, too: all he had were his eyes, pleading, hopefully encouraging.

And Akechi looked _pained._ Like he was clearly deriving no enjoyment from any of this, his movements in stark contrast to his earlier enthusiasm when they’d been willingly having sex under the covers; if anything, he looked close to tears, like he wished Ren would just give some strong indication of a “no.”

Ren wondered if his apprehension mirrored his own while they were doing the previous task, when he’d had to blank out everything else in his mind and just keep going.

_Just do it. Close your eyes if you have to, just keep going. Please._

His body jerked at another touch from the vibrator again, pushing against the base of the plug in his ass as Akechi gripped his straining erection once again, and leaned over him.

“I’msosorryI’msosorryyouaredoingsowell—” and then came the kiss, clumsy and faintly treacherous, against the side of his neck.

Ren was vaguely aware that he was close to the edge, his muscles tense and slicked with sweat, the multiple sensory inputs driving him _so_ close. But it was Akechi’s breath against his ear, that husky, “ _Fuck_ ,” of a gasp, that wracked him with that final wave as his hand tightened around him, wrenching an orgasm out of him. Akechi’s breathing was harsh and seemed relieved, like he’d calmed down somewhat; there was a scream in the back of Ren’s throat that the gag suppressed, forcing it down into what sounded like a tiny, exasperated whine.

There was the hazy whiteness Ren recognised washing over him, and in that moment, he hoped they were there and that he’d black out. But… nothing. His dick was still hard, and everything felt _extra_ sensitive now; he was in that stage where his body instinctively wanted to recoil for a moment and enjoy the wash of afterglow; instead, this awful task was working against that.

“I’m sorry—”

Everything felt _too_ sensitive, almost painful now; intellectually he realised that they _had_ to keep doing this, but some base instinct was screaming at him to shift away. He jerked to the side, twisting his neck as much as the apparatus around him allowed, and Akechi flinched back, horrified.

_Just keep going, just do this…_

The real kicker, he thought about all of this, was that the task entirely removed any attempt at proper communication. Every other time they had to do _anything_ —the cutting task included—there was some explicit way—or some loophole they could exploit—where they could reassure one another that they were all right. Now, it had been ripped from them, ruining his ability to indicate that they needed to keep going, and completely taking away Akechi’s ability to know he was okay.

He struggled against the restraints behind him, forgetting in the moment that his shoulders were pulled back, and his hands bound. And then worried, as Akechi shifted back even further, that _that_ had looked like a “no.” Glimpsing at Akechi’s face again, determined to make some kind of eye contact to suggest that he was okay, all he could see was guilt and terror; Akechi looked pallid and was trembling nervously. He tilted his chin up slightly, as if to say, “Get on with it,” and maybe Akechi noticed, or maybe he’d decided to himself, pressing the vibrator against the underside of Ren’s cock, as he closed his eyes, losing himself in the violent shuddering.

It was enough but not enough. Akechi moved around, possibly trying to find of the other implements, and Ren felt a new wave of apprehension course through him. Perhaps they should have discussed what items to leave on the table. At least they had agreed to leave the sounding stuff well alone.

There was a small crisp _snap_ of a noise, and his eyes opened when Akechi swore. And then Ren realised what he was swearing _at._ He’d grabbed the electricity thing, that funny looking handheld thing with what looked like a misshapen light bulb on the end. Evidently, he’d switched it on, too, judging from the hellish orange glow beneath the glass.

He wasn’t sure how _bad_ it would be. He could understand Akechi’s logic, that the sensation or the pain might be enough to push him over the edge into the required unconsciousness, mercifully ending the task for them, but at the moment, staring at that hot glow, terror now joined the myriad of other overbearing feelings assailing his body and mind.

Akechi looked apprehensive, and in that moment, Ren regretted the stupid jokes he’d casually made about seeing if he was into electricity. Judging from how hot that thing looked, he was pretty much certain now that he really, _really_ was not into electricity at all.

Akechi held it gingerly towards him, near his thigh, waiting for a reaction. When it came close to his skin, there was a small _snap_ and pop of electricity, little purple-white sparks radiated from it, giving him the sensation of a mild stinging shock. It wasn’t like being hit with Zio, at least, but it was still enough to make his hair stand on end and his skin prickle with goosebumps.

Akechi was breathing heavily. “I suppose that… did something?” he asked. His voice wobbled, uncertain.

Ren could feel his breath staggering behind the gag; under normal circumstances he probably would have screamed, but the pain in his jaw from having his mouth forced open like that, as well as everything else going on was so overwhelming that a proper, normal scream seemed impossible.

He felt Akechi touch him again with the wand; this time _actually_ touching his skin. Now it _did_ feel like a low-level electricity attack, that crackle piercing underneath his skin, nerves on fire, his body twitching involuntarily. He groaned behind the gag, everything feeling uncomfortably hot, a weird sense of agony somehow morphing into hyper-stimulated pleasure, his brain growing foggy and his body tensing as if in protest, his skin drenched with sweat.

Akechi switched off the wand and placed it back on the trolley, returning to the vibrator. Through closed eyes, Ren could hear the lower, slightly more comforting buzz, and felt another involuntary jerk as it was pushed against the plug. He shifted again, realising that he was, yet again, on the verge of coming a second time, in spite of the tiredness, the soreness; like he’d been _pushed_ past some normal point of sensation.

Somewhere one logical and horrifying thought occurred to him: _what if this doesn’t work?_ Could they remain here for hours, desperately trying to push him into unconsciousness, his body growing more numb to the sensation, Akechi trying harder—or pushed too hard, giving up—all for naught?

He thrashed against the restraints as the vibrator was moved tentatively along the base of his dick; he could barely feel anything any more, it was like his body was a burned out conductor, overwhelmed with too much feeling, exhausted beyond its ability, wrecked and spent, but some persistent, stubborn part of him refused to give into the sweet release of subconsciousness.

And then he felt Akechi shuffle next to him, murmuring something, prayerlike, at his ear, his warm breath a weird kind of comfort, his face feeling wet and sticky, his skin hot, just like he was.

And then came the merciful release of blinding pain. In his right hand, Akechi held the vibrator, hard against his erection, in a numbing sort of overdrive, but with his left, he’d pinched into some muscle which was already taut and seized up from the restraints and the overwhelming assaults on his nerves running through him.

His mind went hazy again; everything felt wet and detached now; the pain radiating through him. Akechi’s voice was at his ear, a choked sort of apologetic sob against the scream in the back of his throat somewhere, and he jerked away involuntarily. Akechi shifted the vibrator elsewhere, and Ren felt his body give a final heave as he felt lips pressed to his collarbone, and then the sharp ceramic hardness of teeth, wrenching another barely audible scream from him.

And then the heat coursed through him again; not the fire of earlier, not the desperate sense of needing relief, just a hazy warmth that felt like a collapsing kind of reaction to all of the sensations around him; the moisture and tension, the exhaustion, the arousal, the hunger, and that final blow of confusion and sharp pain at the bite, like his body had finally had the sense to give up.

It happened slowly, he thought, miniscule dots of black creeping in from the edges of his vision, almost orgasmic, except instead of the hot white relief and bliss, it was a welcome veil of giddy, dark exhaustion, like some supreme god was tucking a blanket over his head and urging him to go to sleep.

He felt his head, sluggish, turn to the side, and everything felt warm and wet and delirious, and the last thing he was aware of was Akechi screaming his name at him, for some reason, in panic.

And then there was nothing.

  
________________________________________

“Ren?!”

His eyes had rolled back. The panting had stopped, and he was sort of crunched down in strange, uncomfortable looking angle.

“ _Ren_?” It was horrific. Goro wasn’t sure _what_ had pushed him over the edge or even when it had happened, but it was clear that where ever Ren was, it wasn’t with him. 

He stared at his limp body in horror, before instinctively pressing two fingers to the pulse at his neck.

He’d learned somewhere that this was how you checked for a pulse; he’d never had to _do_ it, funnily enough; maybe real world assassins had to do that, but when you killed in the metaverse there was never any need to. And the one time he’d been convinced that he’d killed in the real world, Ren’s body, slumped over like that, the thick trail of blood oozing out of the hole in his head—bigger and nastier and darker than he recalled at the time—had indicated strongly enough that his task was completed and resulted in the required death.

Now, that same panic which he was desperately trying to stifle, coiled through him. There was a faint pulse throbbing under sticky, sweaty skin, though he wondered if it was merely his own; that he was seeing and sensing what he desperately wanted to rather than whatever reality was facing him.

Ren probably _wasn’t_ dead. He’d seen dead bodies before; they didn’t look like this, but he’d never seen one so immediately close to the point of death. And anyway, the possibility of Ren actually dying—suffering a heart attack or something—was severely low. He was nineteen. He was fit and healthy. If he’d been malnourished or had some sort of condition beforehand— _what if he has a weak heart and that’s why he was throwing up and blacking out after the cutting task?_ —maybe, but logic suggested that he should be, as the task required, passed out, rather than _dead._

The unnerving silence and Ren’s body; still, heavy and yet _warm_ was confronting. How long did it take before death could be confirmed, before he had to get really worried— _he’s not dead, Goro, stop being ridiculous_ —anyway? The instructions had talked about _how_ to get Ren to pass out, what to do with the _apparatus_ , but said nothing of what to do once the task was complete.

He looked down at the bed, soaked and soiled and disgusting, and then at the uncomfortable angle Ren was rested at. He’d do what needed doing; he’d tidy up, at least. The sheer indignity of the way Ren was positioned; trussed up in those vicious-looking leather restraints, half sitting, half lying in his own bodily fluids, made another wave of guilt wrack him. He hoped Ren had been spared the indignity of realising that he _had_ pissed himself; that was what he’d been so concerned about initially, hadn’t he?

A shudder ran through him. He’d pushed himself through the task, forcing himself, because he knew Ren would be furious if he backed down, but it had done something terrible to him. This was the one person who’d dared try getting close to him, and he’d treated him like _this._ He’d tortured him. If Ren had been sensible and wanted to back out, and there were a few points where he suspected he _might_ have in the flicker of a moment, he’d been unable to, and he, Goro, had kept on going, resorting to pressure point tactics _Did they do that to him in the interrogation cell?_ and eventually biting him.

And worse yet, somehow, some part of him watching Ren respond to the over stimulation, staring vacantly into his eyes like he fucking _trusted him_ , had been arousing on some base level. He hoped to god that Ren wasn’t aware of his own erection.

It was just another heinous, disgusting thing he’d done, a sin he couldn’t be absolved from. Another confession to make to Ren, if he ever got the nerve to do so.

He hadn’t looked forward to the _other_ conversation he knew they needed to have, and through the day, and between the escape of sleep, focusing on the task seemed to be preferable to thinking about that. Now fate had somehow allowed him to not have that conversation, but he was dealing with _this_ instead. Somehow, now he was staring at Ren in this state… that conversation didn’t seem that bad.

Some way or another, he was going to lose Ren, and he deserved to, especially after doing this to him. He’d merely been revealed as the monster, his father’s son, that he always knew he was deep down.

The only thing left to do was tend to Ren, and ensure he escaped, at least.

This was never meant to end happily; the wheels had been set in motion long before he’d even _met_ Ren. The brutal unfairness was, though, he thought, as he gently unclipped the nipple clamps and tossed them onto the trolley, was that Ren had appeared to be the one person who had persistently, annoyingly kept accepting him and _wanting_ him around. Ren was smart enough to know he was dangerous, to know he wasn’t trustworthy; Ren’s friends despised him with good reason, and yet…

 _Ren didn’t care_.

There was no underhanded undercurrent, no logic to hide it behind; Ren’s actions had consistently suggested that Ren actually liked him for some unknown reason, and _cared_ about him. Ren himself had pretty much implied, in that awkward, vulnerable sort of late-night confessional manner he had when they were alone and it was dark—that he had genuine feelings for him back when they were tentatively been sussing one another out and Goro had been desperately _trying_ to push him away.

He’d thought the flirtation would do it.

He’d thought that inviting him to the Jazz Jin would do it.

He thought that the heavy layer of competition would do it; at least keeping Ren far away enough that they could have a strange sort of mutual rivalry would be enough.

And Ren Amamiya had stared him in the eye and not turned away. Worse yet, he’d still flirted with him, still included him, entertained the idea of leaving the Phantom Thieves once they were disbanded and working with him.

And now, here they were. Locked in this awful game, another one of the universe’s cruel tricks designed to make them despise one another, his own heart racing with guilt, wracked at the realisation that Ren had basically put himself in his hands, trusting him to do awful things to him because the only other option was doing awful things to him.

He didn’t deserve Ren, and he was going to lose Ren.

He removed the still-vibrating plug, and wiped it disdainfully over the sheets before switching it off; he was going to have to remake the bed, somehow manoeuvring Ren while he did so, mindful that he was still unconscious. What he _hoped_ would happen would be that Ren would only wake up once everything was back to normal, when all the traces of this awful task were gone. Yet by the same token, if Ren was out cold for _too_ long, _that_ would be bad, too, so he knew he had to work quickly.

He stepped back, looking at him uncomfortably, the confronting and horrible smell of everything assaulting his senses. Noting that Ren was at least sort of curled on his side, he left him to walk through to the bathroom, and turned on the hot tap on the tub, closing the drainage hole with the modern looking silver plug at the base. It made sense that Ren would want to have a bath and relax after this, right? That’s what _he’d_ want, that had always been _his_ go to after something overwhelmingly awful and hideous had happened to _him_ or he’d had to endure something disgusting in order to achieve his goals. Maybe it was tradition, maybe it was comfort, maybe it was the physical and metaphorical notion of cleansing himself, he wasn’t sure.

He watched, dazed, as the tub filled, steam rising, and dipped a clean towel in it. Wringing it out, he returned to the bedroom and to Ren, and gently wiped down his dampened skin. He was no good at _this_ stuff. This was more of a _Ren_ thing, to know instinctively how to be supportive and comforting, tender and unembarrassed. He felt clumsy, and realised that he probably needed to remove the restraints in order to make Ren comfortable before worrying about wiping him down.

Leaving the towel on the bed, he unbuckled the cuff on Ren’s right leg, watching as it fell in a sort of languid way, no longer supported by the bar attached to his other leg. Moving quickly to the left, he undid the second one, frowning at the red stripes left indented in his skin, rolling his dead weight body towards the side, cringing at the fact that the bed was still a mess of bodily fluids and lubricant.

At least his skin was warm and he appeared to be _alive._

Shifting behind him, he unfastened the buckles at his back; the handcuffs, the collar, the harness, and gently lifted one arm over Ren’s body, leaning him down softly. Was he doing the right thing? He’d left Ren alone last time… but Ren wasn’t bound up last time, was he? He grabbed the towel and carefully wiped it over his crotch, before folding it in half and draping it over him, giving him some semblance of modesty.

He looked so… peaceful and almost Christlike, stretched out like that now. His skin was returning to its normal tone, pale and soft and ethereal, those long slender legs looked graceful and other worldly. It seemed quite ridiculous that Ren appeared to have a distinct lack of awareness at how _beautiful_ he actually was. It wasn’t manufactured pop star beauty, it was a natural, effortless kind of attractive that didn’t need embellishment or the right lighting like most other people did. Goro wanted to nuzzle into him, to run his hands through that thick, soft hair, to kiss down on the back of his neck where he’d assaulted that pressure point, in a kind of non-verbal apology for what he’d done. He wondered how Ren would respond to all of this when he woke up; would he be disgusted and furious, would he sneer about him clearly having some sort of _oral fixation_ , or would he just awkwardly act like none of this had happened?

He barely registered the television screen pinging with a new message. He’d shifted away from Ren, tugging the sheets from beneath one corner of the mattress, moving to the next and doing the same. Placing a bunch of clean, dry towels next to Ren, he rolled him over, realising he’d stupidly left that gag on him in his distraction. He removed the sheets and returned to Ren, unbuckling the gag, watching as his mouth flopped closed.

He pressed a small kiss to the side of his mouth, feeling panic well up inside him, the threat of tears remerging behind his sore eyes. Seeing Ren like this was chilling; he was reduced to a _thing_ , a body, pliable and floppy and somewhere between life and death, waking and sleeping.

Ren had told him about visiting the Velvet Room in the past, a twilight world between reality and the metaverse, accessible only, it seemed, to him. He’d been genuinely surprised that Goro hadn’t been invited in there and he had no awareness of it: was he talking with Igor _now_ , perhaps? Goro hoped _someone_ was giving him some sense of comfort, that at the very least he was in an indifferent space of nothingness rather than nightmares.

Balling up the damp sheets in his hands, he finally stared at the television.

_Good evening_

_You have successfully completed the task for ten points._

_Points have been added to your tally. Your total now stands at 91 points._

_Task selection has been updated. Please select the task you wish to undertake for ten points._

Throwing the linen on the trolley on top of the sex toys, Goro felt nothing. No sense of accomplishment, just a hollow, mechanical sense of progression that reminded him all too much of when he’d walked out of the interrogation cell after wrapping Ren’s fingers around that gun.

He inhaled deeply and glanced at Ren, a sob threatening to erupt out of him, before remembering the fact that he’d left the tap running in the bathroom.

 _Fuck_.

He could be pathetic and cry about this _later._ If he’d fucked up and the researchers docked more points for them wasting water, they’d be stuck here for another day, doing some sort of unthinkably awful thing—no. _He_ would be the one stuck doing the unthinkably awful thing, because Ren had refused to hammer a nail through his hand. Ren had been self-sacrificing and offered to accept the worst of these tasks, because the only thing worse to him than—than _this_ , being completely at Goro’s mercy, humiliated and hurt and _pissing himself_ was, in his mind, the idea of hurting someone else.

The sob escaped him, and he rushed into the bathroom to see a thin film of water flowing over the edge of the bath. Steam had risen, misting the mirrors and the glass on the edge of the shower, and everything around him felt humid and inescapably warm and wet. Shutting the tap off, he leaned against the side of the bath, the warm water soaking into him, and he sobbed. Ren deserved so much better than this. Ren had _always_ deserved more than life had afforded him; he was determined that they were going to get through the next hideous task, whatever it was, so Ren could go back to Tokyo, back to the warmth and comfort and protection of his friends who knew better how to deal with him and how to comfort him.

He thought about when he’d used the bath, when Ren had been hurt and angry, but still been concerned enough about him to remove that packet of disposable razors, that, at the time, hadn’t occurred to him. Their absence occurred to him _now,_ and a terrible part of him considered ending it all somehow; it would stop Ren having to go through some other hell, ensure his escape, and grant him exactly what he deserved; a miserable, lonely failure of a death, where he could disappear into the void like gas in the wind. No one would know.

Except Ren. And whatever Ren thought of him now, he didn’t need the trauma of finding his dead body. No one deserved to live through that.

He was going to lose Ren, and he deserved it.

He thought about what _he_ was actually going to do, since suicidal fantasies were futile.

Prior to this activity, Ren had made it uncomfortably clear that he’d wanted to remain in contact on some level, but after _this_ , and definitely after the confession, he felt his opinion would shift drastically. The irony being that he’d assumed that abandoning Ren had been in some part, a humane sort of kindness: he hadn’t _realised_ that it had contributed to actually hurting him until Ren had been visibly upset about it.

 _You ruined me_.

A fresh flood of tears rushed forth, and he punched the side of the bath angrily, the momentary ache against his knuckles feeling like some sort of release as he kneeled against the tiles. There was no time for self pity, he needed to get back into the bedroom and clean everything up, remake the bed, return the trolley to the exchange chamber.

This was how he coped. Getting the task finished, tidying up loose ends, and then disappearing somewhere safe and quiet. Rehab had been respite, but distraction: unlike most of the other patients, he didn’t have a substance abuse problem, and he knew the managers. They’d been accepting and kind to him when he was a child and rooming with his mother; they’d given him candy and treats and let him watch television and read books when therapy programs were running. He’d been allowed to use the bathing area for as long as he needed to.

Returning as an adult had given him that same euphoric sense of calm and of being cared about, but it was yet another environment where he’d felt like an outsider looking in. The others talked in group discussions about the humiliation of their addictions; their resolve to fight it, their desire to move on and live happier and more productive lives. Unlike Goro, they saw futures for themselves, while he saw a void of nothingness, nowhere significant, drifting along by himself, a dandelion spore headed nowhere meaningful.

Eventually, he had spent his time there distracting himself with productivity; helping the managers keep things clean, gathering fire wood for the traditional stoves, tending the baths, taking out the rubbish, doing the laundry. It wasn’t conventional therapy, but they seemed to instinctively understand, somehow, that he wasn’t like the rest of them. It had given his mind time for quiet reflection, peace, and a sense of purpose… it had been therapeutic in its own way.

He couldn’t very well sit in group discussions and talk about the people he’d killed in the metaverse, awakening to Robin Hood after finding his mother’s dead body in their small apartment. They spoke of beloved family members and returning to children they loved. When he’d finally found his father, the man was so embroiled in his own path to success, Goro had realised there was going to be no loving familial reunion. When he’d told Shido about his powers, initially he’d been brushed off, until Shido had gotten wind of Metaverse research from someone else and gotten in contact with him, making him an offer dependant on some favours and seeing a woman who “understood.”

He couldn’t tell the other people in the group therapy sessions that this “therapist” had felt that inducing stress in him would bring forth further trauma, harsher emotions, and possibly a more powerful persona. That while he was pushed to the near point of breakdown regaling the worst parts of his life to her, in the hopes that would bring forth something stronger, his own father was utilising him as an assassin and dressing him up and taking him to meet important people, and that by the time he was sixteen, Shido had found another use for him.

He couldn’t tell these people, talking about their shame and self-loathing at the police interviews and lost family members, that he’d felt a spike of satisfaction at ending the life of yet another corrupt asshole or watching someone’s life destroyed because he’d forced them to publicly fuck up. That at some point, his father understood what he was doing in addition to the requested jobs, and was likely deliberately setting up meetings with these people, only to know they could either be blackmailed later on, or, more likely, Goro would destroy them in the metaverse himself.

So many of these people meant well, but they didn’t, and never would understand. He’d become what he was, there was no real turning around from it, just working out how to live the rest of his life, no matter how long it was.

Ren had… acted like he wanted to understand. And of everyone, he was the closest to understanding. He knew about the Metaverse, he knew about the fact that Goro had killed and tortured shadows, he knew about his fucked up family situation, and he’d crazily known that he’d _shot him in the head_ , and yet… it didn’t seem to shake him that much.

He wondered where the end point was, and had suspected he knew. The one thing Ren couldn’t accept was hurting people and corruption: he seemed ridiculously blasé about danger to _himself_ , but when it came to people he cared about, suddenly he cared. A lot.

He stood up, grabbing and dampening another towel to take through to wipe Ren down. He’d remake the bed, and even if it wasn’t perfect, they only had one night left, and it wouldn’t matter in 48 hours, assuming that the researchers were playing fair.

_____________________________________________

Ren opened one eye carefully, and peered around.

Everything hurt, and smelled like piss and semen, and he had a splitting headache.

And there was silence, for a moment, until sound started returning to him; the echo of a tap dripping in the bathroom, footsteps on carpet, and then—

“Akechi—” His voice felt weak, but seeing him; seeing that panic quickly flicker to relief on his face, brought everything back in an instant.

He struggled to stand, as Akechi rushed over to him. He had a white towel in his hands, which seemed to be wet—

“Oh, good, you’re—” He sounded _far_ too relieved. And he looked frightful, drenched in something, his eyes red, his hair wild.

“Did we pass?” Ren asked in a haze. “What’s the next tasks?”

Akechi ignored the question, rushing over, patting the warm, damp towel over his face and shoulders. Ren leaned into it; it felt heavenly, and was a pleasant distraction from everything else.

And then he felt arms holding him from behind, clinging to him, that warm breath at the back of his neck, and gentle, soft lips kissing him, a strange sort of murmur reverberating through him, and a choked gasp of a sob—

He struggled against the crushing grip. “Let’s clean this up,” he said. “And see if we got the points—” He tried to stand again.

“We did,” Akechi muttered. “Thank you.”

Ren didn’t know how to respond to him, and Akechi was staring at him, like he was worried he was going to slip and fall. He handed Ren the towel he’d been wiping him with.

“I’ll clean this up,” he said. He still sounded so _relieved._ “I actually ran you a bath, because I thought you might want that when you came to—”

“How long was I out?” Ren asked.

Akechi’s mouth opened and he glanced at the corner of the television screen in utmost disbelief. “Probably about five minutes,” he said. “Are you _okay_ , though?”

“I feel a bit hazy but—” They were both choosing not to discuss the state of the room.

“I’ll get you that sports drink—” Akechi seemed to be kind of scrambled—“I thought it was much longer than five minutes.”

Ren gave a strange little smile. “Thank you,” he said. “I… don’t remember a lot of it, but… thank you.”

He still feel muddled and soft, and there was a strange hoarseness in the back of his throat.

He stretched—everything felt _sore_ , still, and exhausted—and moved towards the bathroom.

“I’ll help you clean up later,” he said giddily. He knew he smelled horrible, that his body was sticky with _everything_ and worried, somehow, that if he didn’t get to the bath now, he’d collapse.

Akechi eyed him carefully.

“The floor’s wet in there,” he said. “I… overfilled it.”

“That’s okay—” Ren gave him a smile, which he returned uncomfortably. “You really know how to look after me, don’t you?”

The water was warm and soothing against his tired muscles, and he was grateful that Akechi had thought ahead. Even though he was angry with him. Even though he seemed clearly shaken by what they’d done. And he’d done all that, and _then_ had removed all that bondage stuff, draped a towel over him, started trying to remake the bed. He didn’t think _anyone_ he knew would willingly clean up something like that without complaining, or at least making an off-colour comment about it.

He slipped into the bath, the warm water embracing him, looking over his body. There were welts around where he’d been held in the restraints, and a bruise, complete with teeth marks, that _hurt_ , near his collarbone. He didn’t remember how _that_ got there.

Guiltily lying down now, he submerged his head under the water, letting his hair billow out around him. Despite the soreness, despite the overwhelming exhaustion, he felt a weird sense of bliss and calm. They had one day left of this, and Akechi was being… well… thoughtful. Like some part of him had transcended the rage and the barriers, and he actually _cared_ about him.

“REN!?”

He felt sharp fingers pulling him up out of the water, and opened his eyes gasping. “REN!? What the _fuck_?”

Akechi looked terrified and panicked, and dropped the orange bottle of sports drink in his hand.

“Mmmm okay—”

“I thought you’d fucking _drowned_.” He was no longer peaceful and calm. He looked panicked, like he’d done something terrible. “Please don’t do that to me again, please—”

Ren sat up in the bath as Akechi collapsed next to him, sobbing. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I just wanted us to get through this—”

Gone was the usual cool, calm and perfectly organised demeanour. He looked close to falling apart.

“Hey—” Reaching out to hold him—awkward when he was sitting there with a wall of tiles between them, he wrapped an arm around his head, kissing his sticky, unruly hair. “We got through this.”

“Ren—”

Akechi looked up at him, his eyes wet with tears. “I just came to bring you a drink and—”

“Hey—I’m all right.”

As if realising everything was okay, he looked up, blinking. “I thought you had—”

“What? Drowned? Passed out?”

“ _Yes_.” He sounded so _relieved_ that he was all right.

“I’ll come through and make the bed,” Ren offered. He felt like he _could_ collapse, but needed to do _something_ productive; Akechi had been the one carrying them through all this.

“I… already have done that.”

“God—I am so sorry…”

“Don’t be.” He wiped away at his face quickly. “Just… come out and we’ll have a drink and—”

Ren stepped up. Akechi looked terrified, and like he probably wanted a shower.

It was _weird_. Usually they’d allowed one another privacy in the bathroom; now, they seemed to have moved past that point, without either of them noticing or really caring.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Akechi said quietly. “I don’t want to leave you alone in here.”

Nodding, Ren reached over for a clean towel, and wrapped it around him. Grabbing the sports drink, Akechi followed him back into the bedroom. The bed looked fresh and tidy; the lingering smell of stale body odors still permeated the room.

“One more night of this,” Ren said with a smile, accepting the sports drink and opening the lid, a realisation of just how _thirsty_ he was. Instead of moving to their table as he usually did after the tasks, he pulled back the sheets and flopped into bed, sipping on the sweet liquid energy. Ryuji always said these things were a rip off and a marketing ploy, but right now, that orange liquid felt like heaven.

“Are you… going to be all right?” Akechi asked.

Ren nodded, gulping down the last of the drink. He felt _full_ now, in a sated sort of way.

“Yes,” he said. The exhaustion was coming back into his voice. “I’m… going to have a lie down now.”

Akechi gave him a small smile, and a cautious glance, before grabbing a clean bathrobe and heading off for a shower.


End file.
